End of the Beard

A year ago I traveled to Belgium, leaving behind a clean-shaven husband itching to try his hand at growing a beard. I knew when I kissed him goodbye there was a good chance I would not see his jawline when I returned home. I didn't know how well it would grow in. We posed for this picture, which I used as my phone cover. When I came home, he had the makings of a full beard and mustache.

This was his first beard. There were times over the decades he tried growing a mustache. He used to work for a company that had nothing against mustaches, but they must be past the scruffy starter stage and look nice. Something he could not accomplish in a one week vacation. This was the same company that insisted they dress like IBM employees -- white dress shirts, dark suits, a tie, wingtip shoes, and dark dress socks. Women had a similar dress code. When I need a reminder of how he dressed for work, I look at old Friends episodes and see Ross and Chandler wearing ties when they go to the office. EDS was even more strict than that.

The beard lasted nearly a year. It never grew on me, and Don knew it. He also
knows I will never tell him what to do with his hair because I don't ever want to be told what to do with mine. (Currently I'm growing out the coloring because I grew tired of the expense, and because I don't know what I want to do. This picture was taken not long after I lost colored it.)

Friday night I came home from digging at Fort Mifflin. We were meeting a friend for dinner. I complimented him on his haircut. I noticed he wasn't wearing glasses. We went out. I talked to him. I looked at him. It wasn't until I went to bed that I realized he shaved his beard off. The Don I fell in love with is back!

The next day a coworker noticed immediately. Someone else said he looks better (thank you!). No one at church commented. 

Don said he wanted to shave it before he gets a summer tan. I'll take it.