No-Shave November

I'm not sure whether men are naturally more competitive than women, but it does seem, based on my experience, that we compete over stupider things. In high school, every boy wants to outshine his friends athletically, academically and romantically. I know I did. It's at least somewhat understandable that guys should compete in these three realms, but friendly rivalry tends to spill over into seemingly irrelevant areas: Whose favorite NFL team beat whose? Who is the best at Golden Eye? (I assume now it's Call of Duty?) Who has the best one-liners? In third grade, I remember actually being proud of myself because I was half an inch taller and five pounds heavier than a classmate. Yes, I took pride in my weight: eighty pounds was undeniably more than seventy-five pounds, which meant that I was... five points better in the great scoreboard of life, I guess.

At some point, most guys seem to outgrow their taste for petty competition. For me, that point was the decade spanning from 2000 to 2010, which began with the end of my high school athletic career and ended with my meeting the woman I would ultimately marry. I had some wonderful times during this era, but I also can't say I miss it. I think for a lot of guys - and again, I'll include myself in this - every stupid competition seems like a direct commentary on your masculinity. As in, I am only a Man if I get this girl's number. I am only a Man if I make varsity. I am only a Man if I score at least a 1300 on my SAT's. I'm happy I don't think that way any more, but since I teach ninth grade English at an all-boys' school, I'm constantly surrounded by guys who do.

Ninth graders at my school are generally polite and respectful, but fairly or not, some of them afford extra respect to the teachers they perceive as embodying their very narrow definitions of masculinity. Male teachers who also coach sports or who have served in the military enjoy automatic street cred. At this point in my life, I'm secure enough in my identity not to want to change anything about myself in order to win approval from a high school student. But on the other hand, if a high school student finds something about me worthy of approval, I certainly won't mind. As it turned out when I began at my current school, the boys were fairly indifferent to my degrees and my accomplishments as a writer, and only marginally more interested in my experience as a wrestling coach. They were, however, fascinated by my ability to grow a beard.

It's true: I can grow a thick beard very quickly. I am neither proud nor embarrassed of this fact - just as I am neither proud nor embarrassed of having unattached earlobes. But one morning, I came into school without having shaved and a boy asked me if I was trying to grow a beard. I responded that no, I didn't think I was; I had only missed a day of shaving. Cue a disbelieving, possibly envious chorus of ooh's and aah's from twelve suddenly rapt fourteen-year-olds. I never thought that thick facial hair was particularly notable, but I also wasn't above trying to use it to my pedagogic advantage. I once told a class that if they all completed their homework on time, I would reward them with an embarrassing picture of myself sporting ridiculous facial hair. The next morning, when they produced their completed assignments, I presented them with this gem:

I drink your milkshake!

At this time of year, No-Shave November, my beard is out in full force. It's an instant conversation piece: boys I haven't spoken to for much of the year will stop me in the hallway to admire it or to ask me when I last shaved. (The answer is October 31st. "I don't need any head starts," I assure them.) Ok, so sometimes I do take a certain amount of ironic pride in the beard - even though I am ever-conscious that I did absolutely nothing to earn it. And truth be told, it gets unbearably itchy after a month, and I'm always happy to get rid of it.

But for the month of November, I milk it while I can. In the past two years, I've won two No-Shave November Faculty Beard Titles. Yes, this is a thing, and yes, it comes with a prize. Last year it was a box of Safeway sugar cookies with bright green frosting. I tweeted after last year's championship that I had more titles than Lebron. We're actually tied now, but in my mind, I'm still winning: I dropped what should have been an easy title two years ago when I caved to family pressure at Thanksgiving, and prematurely shaved.

Let's be clear on this: having a thick beard doesn't make you a Man. Abraham Lincoln had one. So did Ted Kaczynski. As far as I can tell, there is no correlation. I hope to impart this idea to my students. And I plan to keep trying to earn respect and admiration in other, more substantive ways. But in the mean time, if you'll excuse me, I have another Beard Title to win.