From Boyhood to Beards: A Generational Tale

It’s incredible how events resurface throughout our lives, weaving threads of nostalgia and humour into the fabric of our memories. I often find myself lost in thought, reminiscing about the time when I was just a boy, watching my father every Sunday morning as he prepared for the day ahead. The bathroom would fill with the scent of shaving foam, a sweet, sharp aroma that mingled with the warm steam from the shower. I would sit cross-legged on the cold tiles, wide-eyed and curious, observing my father meticulously lathering his face.

“Dad,” I asked one day, “how do you grow a beard?”

He chuckled a deep, warm sound that echoed off the tiled walls. “Son, you might want to avoid it at all costs. Maintaining it can be a hassle; you must keep it trimmed and neat. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

At that moment, I didn't understand him. A beard felt like a symbol of manhood and maturity—a badge of honour. But as I grew older, I began to see his point. The intricacies of grooming became more apparent, and I quickly learned that facial hair required commitment.

In those whimsical childhood days, I took matters into my own hands. Armed with a jar of petroleum jelly and a pair of scissors, I would concoct my own faux beard. With careful precision, I’d apply the slippery substance to my face and sprinkle the strands of my freshly cut hair over it. They’d stick like magic! I would peer into the mirror, beaming with pride at my creation—a haphazard yet charming imitation of what I believed to be a full-grown beard. My mother would laugh at my antics while my father shook his head, amused but slightly exasperated.

Fast forward to today; I find myself standing in front of my own bathroom mirror, a few grey hairs starting to pepper my chin. It’s been years since I last had to deal with facial hair maintenance—years filled with work, responsibilities, and family life. Yet here I am, contemplating whether to grow a beard or keep my face clean-shaven. The thought is both exciting and daunting.

Recently, my two sons, Charles Jnr and Daniel, have taken an interest in all things facial hair. Charles Jnr, now 14, is particularly fascinated by the idea of growing a beard—just like his dad one day. His younger brother, Daniel, who turns 11 years old today, tags along with questions that only intensify their shared curiosity.

“Dad,” Daniel asked one evening at dinner, “how do we grow beards like you?”

I couldn’t help but burst into laughter as their innocent faces mirrored my own youthful curiosity. “You know,” I said between chuckles, “I asked your grandfather the same thing when I was your age.”

They exchanged glances, their eyes alight with excitement and laughter. “What did he say?” Charles Jnr pressed eagerly.

“Pretty much what I’m going to tell you: patience,” I replied. “It takes time and care to grow a good beard.”

As we laughed together over our shared history, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. It was like looking into a mirror reflecting not just my face but also my father’s wisdom and the cyclical nature of life.

I thought about how Charles Jnr will eventually navigate his own journey with facial hair—just as his father once did—and perhaps one day, he’ll share these same laughs with his children.

In that moment of laughter and reflection, I realised something profound: life has its ways of repeating itself. The cycle continues; generations come and go, but the essence of our experiences remains intertwined.

And just like that, time kept moving on. Daniel is 11 years old today—an age where dreams and aspirations take shape—and I can already see the glimmer of curiosity in his eyes as he contemplates what it means to grow into a man.

As I look at my sons, I hope they embrace their journeys with as much joy and humour as I did—and perhaps even create their own makeshift beards from time to time. After all, there’s something incredibly special about those moments spent in front of the mirror, crafting identities one strand at a time.