(I’m back – for those of you who might have missed me) Just returned from 4 days in the Adirondacks visiting the kids at camp. No cell service/no internet! More on that at a later date.
Throughout history there have been revivals of a ridiculous sideburn fashion called ‘mutton chops’ for the obvious reason that the guy looked – well, pretty much like he had a little lamb hanging off his face.
For some reason – probably just because they can (or in some cases, kinda can) – 16-year-old boys at my son’s camp try out the growing of facial hair. Danny embraced this custom with a little more enthusiasm than his genetics would allow. (see above) He made a valiant effort at a goatee as well. Seemed there was simply more space than hair for the poor guy.
That said, on first seeing my daughter and asking how her brother was doing she said, “ his facial hair is soooo not ok.” She is usually very supportive but in this case I have to admit she was not too far off.
When I saw it, I was amused by the fact that my youngest was actually old enough to make this attempt. As the first day of visiting progressed we received all sorts of commentary about ‘Levinson’s Chops’. The older guys and most of his peers were supportive. The girls? Hands down felt they had to go. There were even requests to his counselors to shave him in his sleep (I think that was made by my daughter).
Danny? He appeared to enjoy the discussion without showing any signs of ego. I love this guy. He rises above it all and has a good time with it.
Saturday morning they were gone. I assume he was proud of his first attempt, felt the need to share it with us, but had grown tired of the growing.
This whole thing made me think, wow I am the mom of a facial hair grower. There I was, visiting the place I loved so much as a child. A place where so many rights of passage occurred in my own adolescence. This was our last visiting day at camp! Next year he will be a counselor. And she, well, she may be ready to move on after ten years.
Right there it occurred to me that I was aging out of this camp for the second time in my life.
I suppose you never stop the bittersweet job of growing up.