As any mom can attest, Boys will be boys, right?
And it doesn’t seem to matter how old the “boy” is supposed to be, either.
Take my son (AKA My Favorite Domer), for instance. He and his bro friends read online where some guys somewhere were initiating a “No Shave Conclave,” letting their facial hair grow until the Catholic Cardinals elected a new Pope.
What does shaving have to do with the Pope??
I didn’t ask.
Anyway, a “No Shave Conclave” sounded like a good idea to Domer’s group, so they decided to join in.
As Fate would have it, the new Pope was named in about three days, giving Domer and his friends barely enough time to sprout a few hairs.
That would never do. They opted to extend the “experiment” through the Men’s NCAA Basketball Tournament.
Because they were going with the team to Dayton, Ohio, as part of the Basketball Band, and they figured they’d be there a while.
Again, Fate intervened. The Irish men lost their first game in the second round.
Which still wasn’t enough time to grow a proper beard.
Or so I’m told.
What would I know? I’ve never tried to grow one!
When Domer called to say he was coming home for a few days over Easter Break, he mentioned the “No Shave Conclave.” And I laughed right along with him, assuming of course, that now these “events” were over, he’d join the one member of his group to abandon the Grizzly Adams look.
Imagine my surprise upon seeing my precious son’s face covered in fur!
Some moms might disagree with me, but I’ve learned over the years that this, too, will pass.
Besides, it could have been so much worse — think tattoos. Or pierced ears. Or refusing to shower. At all!
So I’ve restrained myself from making any comments one way or the other.
It’s his face, not mine.
He’s the one having to bear the itching. And the upkeep.
Hair grows at the rate of one-half inch per month, more or less, depending on factors like genetics. Men “in the know” claim it’s a rite of passage to grow a beard, that it separates the men from the boys (and girls), and that it’s fun.
Well, okay, I guess.
Having him home — even for a few days — is so worthwhile, it doesn’t much matter whether he’s scruffy-faced or not.