bearded Hershberger men

All three of our sons showed up at our house for Labor Day with full beards.
I don’t think my husband will ever quite recover. Through the years he has
adamantly declined to grow a beard: Too itchy, too much bother to keep it
neat, and he has no intention of looking like his Amish grandfather, thank
you.
My sons do not have that familial image fresh in their minds. They are
simply having fun, playing with their appearances.
Over the years my oldest son has tried everything from a short beard to no
beard. This time he had a mountain man’s beard. Neatness is the least of
his worries.
Like his older brother, every time my third son started a beard he needed a
job, so he shaved it off for job interviews. He has had his current job
almost a year now. Last month his facial hair was a simple goatee. This
time he showed up with a trim but full beard.
The surprise for big and little brother was that middle brother has also
grown a beard. He started to grow one in the past, but, every time he
skipped shaving more than a couple of days, his octogenarian land lady
verbalized her displeasure and discomfort around unshaven men. She
preferred that the men in her life be clean shaven. He respected her wishes
and remained clean shaven.
However, when he came home to live while he works on his second master’s
degree program, he asked, “Mom, do you mind if I grow a beard?”
I told him I didn’t. Actually, although my father never tried wearing a
beard, both my brothers have had beards, mustaches and sideburns. Through
the years their looks have changed as much as my sister’s. Besides I figure
as an adult, the decision is his, not mine.
My three sons spent their Labor Day visit comparing their beards. I watched
with amusement as they brushed the beards clean during and after meals,
teased each other about the logistics of keeping a beard, and pulled on
their chin hairs in an attempt to look wise and profound as they talked.
Sunday afternoon, I asked them to sit together on the couch for a group
photo. I wanted a picture of my three “twenty-something” sons all finally
mature enough to grow a healthy beard.
They cooperated fully. Preening and posing to insure I got the best
possible shot of their glorious accomplishments. The women folk and
grandchildren squeezed in around them for the last several shots.
The next week I cornered folks to show off the family pictures. Besides
making sure everyone saw the cute pictures of the newest Hershberger, I
also pulled out photos of my bearded ones. “That’s my oldest son. He
converted and became an Orthodox Christian. He has a bushy Orthodox beard.
This is my middle son who moved home after three years near Amish country.
He has an Amish beard: Full with no mustache. And this is my youngest son
with the trim beard. He has not quite decided what he prefers. The last
time I saw him, he had a goatee. And this is my daughter. She doesn’t have
a beard.”
And if she ever does have one – my husband and I, both, will go into shock.
(Joan Hershberger is a reporter at the News-Times.)