All the men in my family have the gingerbeard. Except my father, oddly enough...hmm. My one uncle's gingerbeard is pretty prominent, to the point that my friends referred to him as Redbeard. He also kinda looked like a viking, in that Molly Hatchet sorta way, so I'm sure that didn't help. I remember growing out my first patchy beard and seeing the first strips of red and orange. It was like a Bar Mitzvah, a vision quest and umm, some other coming of age thing all at once.
My hair is pretty dark. I wouldn't call it black, but it's not too far off. Yet, when I let my face get a bit wild and wooly, the hair color runs the gamut from jet black to white. There are shades of orange and yellow in my beard that don't occur in nature. I suppose this would be some sort of benefit should I ever get back to my roots and take up deer huntin'. I wouldn't need to invest in one of the blaze orange vests.
Yes, being the lone male bearer of the family name and all the proud traditions that come along with it - a penchant for Notre Dame football, having thin chicken legs, inexplicable bouts of rage over the most inconsequential things, ball busting that always goes way too far and gets way too personal and hair that shall never be groomed - is a special burden. But, I suppose things could be worse, I did get some sweet chicken legs, after all.
Now, on with the largely inconclusive photographic evidence! (you could see the gingerbeard a lot better in these photos before I started dicking around with the curves, but every shot looked like it was pulled directly off a Meghan's law web site...hence the editing):
They still do
ReplyDeletenot. nice.
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