Nonfiction Writing: Family Member Memory, My Dad

My dad has a bushy mustache and a bountiful beard, but nothing compared to that of a Jewish Rabbi. His beard symbolizes many aspects of his identity to me. The childhood sensation of brushing up against his bristles is a poignant memory of his outward display of masculinity. When a preteen, and even as a teenager, I wondered when I was going to get facial hair.

Even now, at nineteen years old, I don’t have enough growth to make either a beard or a moustache. I don’t even have stubble all over the sides of my face like some of my friends. This competition reminds me that I strive to be like my dad, but at the same time feel like I can never live up to his expectations. In my head, I know this is completely false and that he is extremely proud of me; in my heart, I feel that I will never be the type of man he is currently.

His moustache is a disguise he wears to hide his face and emotions from the rest of the world. His beard is a sign of his wisdom and vast knowledge. Together, these symbolize his ruggedness and extreme, intense work ethic. I feel as lazy as a slug compared to all the effort he puts in to running the family business. When procrastinating on my homework, I feel guilt at my lack of motivation and perspiration. My dad is not afraid to break a sweat.

A more light-hearted aspect of his hair is that food gets trapped there when he is eating. He always jokes that he is saving the crumbs for later.
I wonder if my mom enjoys kissing his lips through the mass of pointy, sharp hair. He would be much easier to kiss if his mouth was not hidden away.

All in all, I hope to someday have a face full of hair that can compare with my dad. I am most curious as to what I would look like with any arrangement of ‘masculinity’ upon my face. As of now, I am incomplete. I do not have the types of outward displays of manhood that my dad presents. I must find a way to show who I am without hair in the proper places. Sadly enough, I do not even have much hair in my armpits. I have a few hairs on my chest, but they are hardly worth noting. At least I do have those few hairs in those few places. I guess I just have to be happy with what I have, and rejoice in surprise when I am gifted with more. I can only wait in persistent anticipation. When will the hair grow?