Battle of the Beard: What Matters Most? Appearance or Ability?

Occasionally I write about issues I face as a parent. And for the most part, these posts have been well accepted. However, I have received email and other feedback from readers who thought these posts were too highly personal to be posted on a blog. Yet, I do so because first and foremost, I desire this blog to be a place to exchange ideas, to work through questions and issues that although may be personal, others might be going through the exact same thing and asking the exact same questions.

That being said, when I was a young man, before I left the house each morning, my mother would give both me and my brothers and sisters the once over. When we left, we were expected to be well groomed and neatly dressed. My mother stood between us and the door and made sure our hair was combed, and we were all lotion-ed or Vaseline-ed up and shining like a new dime, and our clothes were neatly pressed, and our shirts tucked securely in our pants which were cinched tightly around our waists with a belt.

She would even do that annoying thing where she would wet her thumb with the tip of her tongue, and then wipe off any real or imagined debris on our faces.

Mother had three reasons for being so fastidious about our appearance. She reasoned, and perhaps rightly so, that our appearance had a bearing on our conduct, and that people often judged others by something so utterly superficial as their appearance. Lastly, and of most importance to her, she believed that how we looked and how we conducted ourselves outside the house was a direct reflection on her and my father.

Now let’s flash forward to the present. The summer before my youngest son’s last year of middle school, he begin grooming a beard. I don’t know. Blame it on the hormones in the food or whatever, but one day he was this little baby-faced middle-schooler, and the next day he looked like Grizzly Adams.

Shortly thereafter he sought me out to teach him how to shave. And we had this beautiful father and son moment. We stood in front of the mirror, and I taught him to treat the area to be shaved with a thin coat of Vaseline or lotion so that the razor didn’t come in contact with the skin. And to wet his face before applying the shaving cream. And to shave with the grain to prevent razor bumps.

It was a beautiful moment. But then a few months later, the summer before he was to enter high school, he declared that not only was he done shaving, he was not going to cut his hair anymore either. And over the course of the summer, he proceeded to grow this scraggly, nappy beard, and allowed his hair to grow into this unkempt, raggedy, pyramid-shaped afro.

I said nothing at first. I figured that sooner or later he would grow tired of it all, and then shave and seek out a haircut of his own accord. But when school started, he still had not changed his mind, so I took matters in my own hands and ordered him to the barber shop. However, he resisted, and my wife defended his decision with some argument about individuality and self-expression, so I eventually capitulated.

That was about eight months ago, and now he looks like an absolute wild man. Not only that, his wardrobe now consists of blue jeans, t-shirts or polo-styled shirts, and Chuck Taylors. He refuses to wear clothes with corporate logos or wear leather tennis shoes because of his concern for animal rights. And oh yeah, he has become a vegetarian.

In his defense, though, he may look like a vagabond, but he is a really good kid. He has never gotten into any trouble throughout school, not even a teacher phone call, and he makes good grades. Not only that, he attends a high school for the arts, and when I go to his school, all those damn kids look and dress weird to me, so he is not that out of place. In fact, amid the crazy tattoos and the piercings and the colored hair, he looks almost normal.

But in the same instance, this is my child. Every morning as he walks out the front door and I see his appearance, I grit my teeth. Nevertheless, I love him, nappy beard, raggedy afro, and all. But I do know how harshly African American males are judged because of their appearance; sometimes people can’t and won’t give them credit for the power of their intellect because they cannot get past their appearance, and I want him to be able to take advantage of every and all opportunity that comes his way.

Not only that, I see a number of young African American men, and women, too, for that matter, who fail to see how their appearance affects the opportunities available to them. But I'm being told that I am old-fashioned, that the world has changed since my youth. However, even as I look around, I don't see the world as being so different.

Am I being too harsh? Am I being too judgmental?

Love Yourself, and Be a Blessing to Somebody: A Charge to My Son

I cannot write this morning. I can hardly even think. The excitement is just too great. This morning my youngest son begins high school, and I am, perhaps, even more excited than he. But no one seems to understand this.

I had every intention of meeting his bus at school so that I might video tape his arrival. But he protested vehemently, and my wife finally dissuaded me, especially given that in my pride I had already posted his naked baby butt on yesterday.

So, in lieu of an original post, I’ll just post the conversation I had with him on last evening. Because I don’t speak well off the cuff—I end up leaving out all the most important points—I always have to write things down.

Son, I need to speak to you briefly before the morning. I just wanted to take the time to try to be a blessing to you because whether you know it or not, you have indeed been a tremendous blessing to me in ways that you could not even imagine.

But allow me to begin by sharing with you what I believe to be the keys to a happy, successful life based on my experience: Love yourself, and in everything you do, try to be a blessing to someone each and every day. Allow me please to explain.

Believe it or not, I have not always loved myself. I cannot explain to you how difficult it is to grow up surrounded by blight, by baneful wretchedness, and not internalize it.

My mother loved me. My grandmother loved me. And they held me tight to their bosom even into my adulthood. But for some reason, they never quite taught me to love myself.

And for a period during my early adulthood, my actions, my demeanor, reflected this lack of self-love. I used people and allowed myself to be used. I did many horrible things and put myself in horrible situations that could have, that perhaps should have, lead to jail or even greater still, death.

To this day, I wonder why I was spared. To this day, I sometimes awake at night expecting someone, something, to come pull me from my bed and force me to answer for my past.

And I did not begin to love myself until I met your mother. She had it together. So was so beautiful, so intelligent that I could not believe that she would even be fooled up with me. But she brought out the best in me. She showed me my gifts and talents, but most importantly, she believed in my gifts and talents. And with a loving, caring hand, she gently pushed me, cajoled me to put them to good use.

She made me want to be a better man. And just because she loved me, I began to love myself. When you settle down and seriously begin to consider a mate, find someone who loves you and believes in you as much as you love and believe in yourself.

And then came you and your sister. You can’t imagine how much time and effort me and your mother put in naming the two of you. We finally settled on Asa for you, meaning healer or better still, God’s perfect physician. And for your sister, after much debate we chose Aja, meaning life.

This should be the end of the story. This should be the “happily ever after” part, but it didn’t happen that way.

I took a look at your mother, and I looked at your older brother and sister. And I took a look at you and your sister, and the few material things I had amassed at that point. And I said to myself, look at what I have created. How absolutely great I am.

My self-love hardened to arrogance. I began to bully people. I began to purposely hurt people, I began to draw people in only to shove them violently away. And at the very height of my arrogance, we found out about the impending birth of your brother.

Your mother and I put as much care and effort in naming him as we had you and your sister. However, when the time came, I arrogantly insisted, against your mother’s wishes and my own heart, that his first name be Aedan, meaning fiery one, and for his middle name I chose none other than my own.

This was not the name your mother and I agreed upon; this was not the name we were given for him. It was a name growing out of my arrogance. It was a name meant to say to the world, “Indeed, look what I’ve created. I am great.”

At that time I learned the price of arrogance. You know the rest of the tragic story from here; the following day your brother died.

And in the days of overwhelming crushing grief that followed, I thought I would hate myself even more. I thought I would never forgive myself, my arrogance. But miraculously, when I could finally look at myself in the mirror again, I loved myself even more. However, I did so with the realization that the gifts I was given, the blessings I was given, were not mine to have and use as I so wish, but emanated from someone, something much greater than I could ever even imagine myself to be and were to be used accordingly.

So this is the charge I give you today, son. This is what I ask of you; this is all I’ll ever ask of you. As you enter into manhood, love yourself, but at all times, in all things, endeavor to use your gifts, your talents, to be a blessing to somebody. But in doing so remember this as well: I’ll always love you even more than you can love yourself.

Selah

Reader, Please Indulge Me on this Morning

Reader, please indulge me this morning. I have a lot of wonderful things planned for this week, but tomorrow my youngest son begins high school. So, I would like to take the time to encourage him as well as have a little fun at his expense.

Over the course of my life, I have been blessed and mightily so. I have no idea why I, among others, am deserving of such favor. And of all my many blessings, perhaps I am most thankful for my four children. I have been blessed with four very beautiful, very intelligent children, who never cease to bring me joy. And tomorrow one of those children reaches a milestone in his life.

My youngest son, the irrepressible Aaron Beaste, begins high school tomorrow. That is him up top wearing the orange tights with the band-aid on his little noggin. I try to stay away from clichés, but I just have to say it. The time has gone by so quickly.

I remember bringing him home from the hospital. He was my wife’s first child, and she absolutely doted on him, devoted every waking hour to him. She insisted that he sleep in the bed with us until he was maybe eighteen months when I insisted that he sleep in his own room in his own bed. That first week or so was rough. He was in one bed crying while my wife was in another crying, but it was past time he made that move.

And young Aaron Beaste had to have been the very cleanest baby in the whole world. My wife bathed him after meals, after changing his diaper; anytime he might have gotten the least bit dirty. And she bathed him in the kitchen sink which I never could figure out.

Let me take the time to throw in the obligatory “naked baby pictures.” I’ve got an album full of them. Evidently, people think that’s cute.

But anyway, I have to admit even if it is my own son, he was a cute baby. I remember being at a bar-b-q when he was maybe two or three years of age, and this older matronly lady just kept staring at him. We could not figure out why and began to get a little uncomfortable, but she finally informed my wife that with those long eyelashes, and that fine curly hair, he was so pretty that he should have been a girl.

It’s hard to believe that same cute little baby boy with those bow-legs is the same hairy teenage sleeping in the back bedroom of my house and wearing a groove in my floor from his room to the refrigerator, and leaving a permanent dent in my couch. It seemed so much easier to love him when he was small and cute and could not talk.

But, Aaron Beaste, you already know the expectations of me and your mother. We only expect you to do your very best and give your very best one hundred percent of the time. And since you have been blessed with many substantial gifts and talents, your very best will take you very far indeed.

Remember the lessons your mother has taught you. Remember the lessons I have taught you. Remember to smile and laugh and thoroughly enjoy your life when the time calls for it. However, also remember to put your nose to the grindstone when the time calls for that as well. And always, but always, seek to make the right choices; do the right thing.

And yes, your mother was a part of this. In fact, she showed me where she kept the “naked baby” photo album. You know I had no idea where it was.

Accentuating the Positive

Too often, the young people in our community getting into the most trouble, those performing the most outrageous, egregious acts, get the most attention. And because they are the most visible, they become the ones by which the whole generation is defined. However, in this post I would like to take the time to recognize some young people who are excelling.

I have spent the last two days or so in Tallahassee, Florida, supporting my young mentee Aaron Beaste and his crew, wikiemol, and Lil’ Cody, at the Florida History Fair. Just getting to the Florida History Fair was no easy feat. They first had to beat out challengers at their school, a school for academically gifted students, then win at the county level. This year’s theme was “The Individual in History: Actions and Legacies”.

They entered an absolutely monster documentary covering the contributions of comic book creator Stan Lee. According to their thesis, by adding a personal and social dynamic to his characters, Stan Lee was able to take on themes like racism and sexism in his comics. They did not win; however, just being invited to compete was an achievement in itself.

Over the past few weeks as these three fourteen year olds prepared for the competition, I got to know them better. And as the time progressed, my respect and admiration for and fascination with these young men grew. If I had only been that absolutely talented and focused when I was their age, I’m not certain just how far I could have gone.

I have seen the future in these three young men, and the future is indeed bright. Despite the many distractions and temptations faced by young people these days, these young men have continued to achieve. Despite being ridiculed daily as nerds and geeks, these young men have actually embraced their outsider status and use it as an inspiration to be successful.

Remember the names, remember the faces because I guarantee you’ll be hearing from them in the future. Congratulations wikiemol, Aaron Beaste, and Lil’ Cody (from left to right)! Your parents and I are all so, so proud of you.