The battle for my face rages on. For over four months now, the precious topography stuck to the front of my head has been an absolute war zone. I fear there is no end in sight.

Sadly, I can identify with both sides of this fight. I want both to win. But I’m not sure that’s possible.

On one side, you’ve got my beard. I’ve had this thing for years. Like a big, bushy, stray cat, it showed up one day and just never left. I didn’t choose my beard. I got lazy for a month and it chose me.

Like the stormy sea, my beard has many personalities. My beard’s been big. My beard’s been small. It’s been both wild and tame. Both playful and shy. Both Simon and Garfunkel. I wake up each day, never knowing what beard I’m going to get. 

Like the stormy sea, my beard has many personalities. My beard’s been big. My beard’s been small. It’s been both wild and tame. Both playful and shy. Both Simon and Garfunkel. I wake up each day, never knowing what beard I’m going to get. 

Since last March, since America started taking this pandemic seriously (some far more than others), I’ve been lucky enough to work from home. And when you work from home, certain things become less important. Like healthy eating habits. And pants. And beard maintenance.

Trimming, brushing, and the general coiffing of my beard has become less of a priority since COVID-19 reared its deadly head. One morning, beard brush in hand, I looked in the bathroom mirror. I stared deeply into the deep depths of my facial shrubbery, and I thought, “Why do we continue this dance, you and I? You reach out to the world around us, only for me to beat you down. It ends now.”

And so I’ve let my beard … be. I really only wrestle it into submission on the rare occasions I venture out into public for necessities like food and ice cream cones.

I love this beard. I’m on Team Beard. I’m a big, hairy fan. I’d probably forgo trimming it all together if it weren’t for one thing.

Facemasks.

Which brings us crashing into the other side of this vicious visage skirmish. I’m also a member of Team Facemask. I’m a big, masky fan.

I understand the science behind wearing them, and I agree with the 10,000 memes I see supporting them every day. I support Wisconsin’s recent mask mandate. Wearing a mask in public is a small kindness and teeny tiny sacrifice I can make to help keep others healthy. I greatly appreciate it when other people wear a mask to protect my own health. And the health of my family.

Wearing a mask means you want everything to get better for everyone.

That said, beards and masks don’t always play nice, and sometimes it gets downright ugly. Oh, I’m able to get my mask on properly to ensure a good seal – as if I’m canning a jar of prize-winning pickles for the county fair – but not without some effort. Sometimes I’ve got some side beard showing, all scraggly and scandalous. And that’s when I know it’s time for a trim.

I must confess, Team Mask may be winning this war. In fact, I recently trimmed my beard shorter than I have in years – a sizable triumph in such a heated conflict. The fighting came to a halt one morning as an ominous droning sound rose up along the horizon. It was the clippers. Cold and electric, they came to reap my follicles. It was a sad day. A dark day. A necessary evil.

My beard lives on, though only a shadow of its former self. No more scruffy side beard. No more struggle. A wartime sacrifice for the good of all.

And with apologies to my fuzzy compatriots out there reading this, please understand: For my city, my state, and my country … I’d do it again.

Like, in just a week or so. It grows really fast.