How Growing a Mustache Changed My Life

Growing a mustache is a lot like having a kid—it's a life-altering experience that teaches you about love, heartbreak and teeny, tiny combs. When I set off on this quest, I was young, immature, irresponsible and reckless. Just 30 days and one thick lip-sweater later, I can honestly say I've changed.

Now I'm young, immature, irresponsible and reckless ... and mega-handsome.

In the beginning, I knew there would be risks. After only three days of growth, my sisters-in-law called me out on Facebook: "I seriously can't believe that's all u have. Thought for sure it'd grow faster" and "I agree with Mel, I thought it would be full by now." How could they expect me to grow a mustache that fast? Was I letting them (and everyone else) down? After hours of contemplation, I could come up with only two possible explanations:  Either 1) They were kidding around or 2) Their leg hair must grow at a ridiculously fast pace. To this day I'm torn between the choices.

There were other hurdles as well. Every morning we had to set aside 25 seconds for my beautiful wife to take my daily head-shot photo. This eventually turned into a 6-minute affair because both girls wanted to be in the picture with me. They'd stand on each of my sides, lean against the faded yellow dining room wall, smile big, look right at the camera and saying "CHEESE!" Of course, neither seemed to realize that my wife had the camera pointed at my head—and they weren't actually in the photo. But that didn't mean they weren't a valuable part of my morning ritual. They were overjoyed to be included in my mustache journey, and I was overjoyed to have them along.

My work life changed a bit too. Coworkers who stopped by my cube on a regular basis were now bringing friends to catch a glimpse of the spectacular-ness of my face. Some chatted up mustache etiquette while others shared stories of family members who had grown their own "mos." All of them, though, would stick around for a few extra minutes to see if my mustache did anything magical, like curl before their very eyes or transport us both to one of those calming, beach-themed Corona commercials. Nearly always, it did—and they walked away impressed.

Over the past month, I've learned a lot about myself. I learned how to set goals and stick to them, a quality I hope to pass on to my kids. I learned that my wife will still love me, no matter how ridiculous—or, in this case, awesome—I look. Most important, I learned that I have wonderful friends, family and Life of Dad fans who took time out of their busy schedules to "like" my mustache updates on Facebook, send me supportive comments and e-mails, read my mustache posts and compare my face to that of a budding young porn star. For all of these (and all the other support you always offer), I will forever be grateful.

This concludes my month-long Movember quest to grow a mustache and raise money/awareness for Prostate Cancer (if you haven't already, there's still time to make a tax-deductible donation to my team). It's been a lot of fun and I hope you were able to get a few laughs out of it as well. Tomorrow is shaving day and my face will return to its normal level of awesomeness. (I know, I know—my eyes are tearing up at the thought too.)

In these final hours before Hector is set free to go and grow into a full beard and make some other family happy (yep, I named the mustache Hector), I'm reminded of a classic mustache-shaving song that's stood the test of time to become one of the greatest mustache-shaving songs of all-time: "End of the Road" by Boyz II Men.

"Although we've come
To the end of the road.
Still I can't let go.
It's unnatural.
You belong to me.
I belong to you."

So long, my friend. Until we meet again in Movember 2: Electric Boogaloo.

Missed my daily Movember progress and diary? Check it out by visiting
the About Movember tab at the top or by clicking here. 

 

The Life of Dad is updated every week. Thanks for stopping by and following my attempts to be a good dad, husband and co-ed softball player. I hope you visit again. -- Brian