Beard Sparks Friends To "Name That Gaba"

It's been something I've been meaning to do since 1986 - the last time I attempted such a venture.

So one morning, about a month ago, I stared at my face in the mirror, a bloodshot gaze that came from not enough sleep after catching an episode of The Equalizer on late-night television.

"Your problem," I told myself, "is that you're lazy."

And so, right then and there, I decided to take advantage of my lethargic approach toward shaving.

And let the beard grow out.

The last time I had a beard was over four years ago, and if there's anything that can be said about that bout without the razor, it's that the comments overheard were often humorous.

There was the wedding I played DJ at, for example. One of the bridesmaids commented to another that, at least if the pastor hadn't shown up, we would have had a replacement rabbi at the reception. Me being the rabbi, I guess. Obviously, this was a lady who watched Fiddler on the Roof about 30,000 times too often for her own good.

This, of course, was nothing compared to the "standard" references to bearded men of note throughout history - Abraham Lincoln, Moses and the rock band ZZ Top. One of my friends went so far as to call em "Honest Gabe," partially because of Mr. Lincoln, to a degree because of my last name.

I had grown a beard for the first time while in college in 1984, starting three weeks before the Tigers-Padres World Series matchup. So I had already heard a lot of the same types of commentary about my facial feature.

A former college roommate dubbed me The Neanderthal Man, because I resembled one of the lead characters in the movie, The Clan of the Cave Bear. Another ex-roomie started a betting pool on how long my beard would be by the end of the semester.

What you have to understand about these references is that, by the time the jokes and comments were in full swing. I had a pretty healthy beard. The rabbinical reference was probably accurate in terms of internal appearance, except I didn't grow the sideburn curls like the ultra-religious Orthodox Jews did. By comparison's sake, what I have right now is but a mere babe in the woods, a puppy in need of growing up.

Still, this time around, the silly statements are getting any sillier. The beard was entering its second week at the time Operation Desert Storm took effect, an done of my friends thought my infantile-stage growth made me look like Saddam Hussein.

Right. I didn't even know Saddam had a beard. Maybe she meant Fidel Castro, or Yassir Arafat. You know, evil, domineering leaders with beards.

By the next week, another acquaintance thought I looked like a priest.

No, I thought, there's a contradiction in terms. By the time Valentine's Day rolls along, I'll probably be the second coming of Cupid (a bearded one, at that). Or Ringo Starr.

How long will it stay? Who knows? Probably at least until it warms up a bit more.

Or until I'm just too lazy to keep being lazy in the morning.

This article originally appeared in the Ogemaw County Herald.