It was a battle that he never wanted. Face to face. An old school, high noon town square standoff. The music of the old Clint Eastwood spaghetti westerns played in my head. There would be a winner and a loser today and everyday thereafter. There was a staredown,then a smirk. The tension was palpable. Like the unexpected crack of thunder, the first move was made. It was over before it started. My one year old had successfully grabbed my beard and gave it a yank whose strength knew no bounds. As I let out a yell akin to a stuck pig as she belted out her cute laugh, victory in her eyes and a light misting in mine.
I am the 2013 version of Michael Keaton in Mr. Mom. I was not fired from my job,I had no Gedde Watanabe to turn to or softball games with the lovable lunks who I had bonded with, but I was medically retired from the Army, due to my PTSD. I had served for a little over 16 years, and the two times in Iraq and my last deployment to Afghanistan had taken their toll, a toll that made me someone that had utilized all the mental health care that the Army had to offer and was not able to continue on. My doctor thought that I would benefit from focusing on reintegration for the next year if it was financially possible so I could become a productive member of society. My wife and I quickly agreed. I have 5 girls, ages 15(who is in WA with her mother),11,10,5 and the baby. Being home,as in the Country and not deployed or somewhere on temporary duty or at an Army school would be an experience only the baby would be privy to. My other girls never got the full dad. There was always a deployment,preparation for a deployment or some other detail that kept me rotating out of the door. The baby is getting the full dad,beard and all. When I was in the Army there would often be discussions about how big our beards would be when we got out, how much beer or whiskey we would drink or how much pot we would smoke. I am proud to say that I grow a beard pretty quickly. I am on month 3, which would be a normal persons month 6. I treat it like its one of my kids. It has its own shampoo and conditioner,it gets taken care of and I make sure its nice and combed before I go out.
Our daughter, Emily is my little shadow. She is different from her sisters because she has me 24/7 and she is different in our eyes, because her sister, Melissa Louise before her passed away at birth. It was the worst day of our lives. We were so excited to have our first Texas baby(my grandfather and mother are native Texans) and everything was fine until that morning. Everything felt perfect. Every ounce of love that we had saved up for nine months was met with heartbreak and the love was double that when Emily was born, happy and healthy. I make her breakfast tacos(She is a native San Antonian, after all), take her on walks in her stroller through the neighborhood, take her shopping at HEB or Wal Mart with me, often to the confused stares of the stay at home moms who haunt the aisles looking for something miniscule while waiting for that mid morning nap to take hold. She is growing by the day, first it was another tooth,then it was some semblance of a word, then walk and fall, and finally a walk. She is my little buddy.
As my beard grew, her hands grew stronger. First it was a rub of the growing beard, then it was a little tug and finally it was a grab that could only to be matched by the handstrength of a bullrider. There are many places to grab a full beard. The cheek is much ado about nothing, just like the mustache,the face is tough there and can handle quite a bit. The painful sweet spot in the world of bear grabbing is just below the jawline. I am not a beard scientist so I cannot for certain explain why, but I can tell you the pain is somewhere between getting poked in the eye and kicked in the junk by a large farm animal.
This showdown happens everyday. Sometimes it even happens in her sleep. Yes, I let her sleep in the bed with my wife and I. More often than not she falls asleep in my arms, which is prime beard grabbing range and that quiet time is secretly my favorite part of the day. During her waking hours, I carry her wherever I go, unless there is a shopping cart involved. Sometimes she does it just to do it. Because she has baby hands with her vice like grips and when kids discover something new with their hands,these interesting little tools at the end of their arms, thats all they want to do. Grab it and never let it go.
Why do I put myself through this torture? I often ask immediately after what I call a “grabbing”. My 250 pound frame quivering as I try and rub the pain out of my face. The answer is simple. One day she will grow too big to carry everywhere,too old to want to have dad hold her all day and too cool to admit that the bearded,bald headed guy is her dad. So I tolerate the yanking and tugging of my beard because I know one day that there will be no sweet miracle baby to grab my face, and while my beard won’t be going anywhere, she will be. She will go to college,move out and find her own way in the world. She will one day have her own family, and then her children can grab my beard and I won’t complain. Their mom toughened me up for them, and thats alright with me,Grab it and never let go.
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