Month: July 2020

For almost five decades on this planet, I did not have much success growing a beard.

Yes, I know that for everyone that first decade is a wash. For me, the next three decades also did not experience much beard growing success, despite my occasional feeble attempts.

I don’t recall a lot of beards when I was in high school, but I do recall taking my kids to high school over the years and seeing bearded folks walking into the school, and my thought was, “Why is that teacher wearing a backpack and a letter jacket?”

Maybe kids could grow beards when I was in high school. But I know I couldn’t. (Fun yet slightly related fact: There used to be a video tape of me in my freshman year in college at a fraternity party, and my voice is cracking a la Peter Brady. Thankfully, that tape was shown so many times (despite my objections) it eventually broke and died. I think that may answer some of the questions as to why I didn’t have a whole lot of facial hair experience in my first two decades.)

I tried to grow a beard a few times over the next couple of decades, with little success. Usually, I would give up after about two weeks, when it just looked like I had just not washed my face for a while.

My beard would come in scraggly and uneven, and often presented multiple colors that made it look like someone had thrown a calico cat at my face at an exceptional velocity.

On the occasions I made it past a few weeks, I usually bailed at about the six-week mark, when it became too itchy for me to bear.

A few years ago, after one of my latest failed attempts, my wife said to me that I had made some notable attempts, and it was time to just wrap it up and call it a lifetime on the beard. And that’s OK. And she was right. Then.

Because “then” was not during a pandemic. So when it all went south and we went into quarantine, I decided I would stop shaving. But to have a clear out, I put in what I thought was a handy escape clause.

I vowed not to shave until the Atlanta Braves threw their first pitch of the season. I made this vow in February, confident that the March 26 opening day would be just fine.

What fools we were early in this whole mess…

When the baseball season was postponed in mid-March. I had two choices. Give up my ruse that I was actually thinking I could grow a beard, or buckle up and see how long this thing goes.

Which is why, in late July, I finally shaved my beard. The Braves opened with the Mets in a real baseball game, and I was finally at the point where I could acknowledge that I had accomplished a beard. 

I weathered the storm of the itchiness. And I finally got there. An actual beard. Like grown ups (or high school kids) have. I got to the point where my wife on occasion said, “You know, you could trim it a bit if you want?”

So for the past few months, I have had a beard. I know new neighbors and co-workers who have never known me without a beard. The young neighbor across the street saw me one morning and stared blankly at me, having no idea who I was. Based on my kids’ and wife’s reaction when I shaved, they had gotten used to me with the bearded look. But I think it will be retired. I have proven that I can do it, and I can now revert back to my babyface shaved look that I have known most of my life. From here on out, I’ll leave the beards up to the pros. You know, current sophomores in high school.Unless there is another pandemic.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

If you spend enough (or worse, too much) time on social media you will begin to develop the very grim view that the world is overrun with very angry, very unpleasant people. 

People who will gladly say something in a comment just to upset someone else.

People who will delight in saying or doing something that they know will hurt someone else.

People who are, well, mean.

And if you’re not careful, you can start to think, “Well, there it is. People are just awful.”

So it’s nice to see that sometimes, you are reminded of why in the real world – away from their keyboards and more representative of the vocal minority of people online – people are fundamentally decent.

We found this out recently when my son lost his camera. He is an avid nature photographer, and goes out most every day to find critters and photograph them. He has a very nice camera that was a gift from his grandparents. It was one of the last gifts his Pop gave to him before passing away.

My son had gone out one night and after a stop to photograph a copperhead he found, he set the camera on the bumper of his car. And he drove off. He didn’t realize that he had set the camera there until he got home, around 11:30 at night.

He went into panic mode when he realized what had happened. So we hopped in the car, and made the 45 minute drive out into the woods to look for it in the middle of the night. Nothing.

The next day, my wife posted a Facebook message about the camera, as well as our son’s love of nature and the sentimental value of the camera. Parker and I went and blanketed the area with signs hoping that some good Samaritan had driven by and seen it and had it for safekeeping.

After more than a week, we still haven’t recovered the camera. And that’s a bummer. If the person who has the camera decided it was now theirs, I hope they enjoy it and the thousands of nature pics on it, and also appreciates that the camera was one of the final gifts a grandfather gave to his grandson.

But this column isn’t for that person. No, rather it is for:

• The hundreds of people who shared the post.
• The people who responded to my wife’s post saying, “I have shared this post to (insert community here) forum! Hope you find it!”
• The people who sent messages expressing their hope that it was found.
• The gentleman who messaged my wife and said he and his husband often biked out there, and they would be on the lookout for it.
• The person who called me from the woods and said, “Hey, I saw your sign. Can you tell me where you think you lost it so I can be on the lookout?”
• The people who contacted us who had searched various online shopping sites to see if they could find it posted for sale somewhere.
• The people who reached out to offer to donate replacement cameras.

Because those are really who we are. I have to believe that. It’s not the people on social media who take delight in being mean to other people online. It’s not the people who go in the streets and yell at peaceful protesters. It’s not the people who willfully spread falsehoods and lies and inflammatory and hateful rhetoric online.

Yes, they exist. 

But for the most part, we are better. We are a good people. And we need not be poisoned by the bad who are trying to drown out the good.

Embrace the good. Thank you, good people. And keep being you. And be loud about your good. Because it matters in the world.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

I am not a patient shopper. Nor am I necessarily a well researched shopper. Which is why any major purchases (anything, say, over $5 or so) should probably be run through my wife first.

She is one of these people who will spend time, you know, seeing if a product is good or not.

Me? Not so much.

Take, for example, our microwave. When we moved to our new home about six year ago, we had some time while I was at the new house while my wife was back in our old place across the state wrapping up last minute details.

I had a long list of things I needed to get done. One of those things was to procure a microwave. We did not bring our microwave from our previous house because XXXXXX.

Perhaps it was the blur of the move that allowed my wife to put that purchase in my camp.

So I did what was natural to me – I went to a retail store, found a microwave that was SUPER cheap, and headed for the exit.

When my wife got to the house a few days later, she saw the microwave and said, “Why is it so small?”

“Well, it was only like $25.”

“I think you got a microwave for a dorm.”

Well, we had a new home and kids starting school in a new town in a few days, so I think my wife just decided she’d live with the microwave that probably had once dreamed of making nothing but Ramen noodles for its career.

Well, life got in the way, and we never got around to replacing it. But o ver time, we found more and more things we disliked about the little microwave that couldn’t. It was indeed very small, and some of our bowls didn’t even fit in it. It took about 15 minutes to cook a single baked potato. And starting last year, it began making a weird grinding noise when the glass platter inside turned. That is, when it actually turned.

And then quarantine happened. And my wife said, “I’m going shopping for a microwave.” I said, “You’re going to the store?” She said, “Nope, as she settled into her chair with her laptop.”

Then, for the next, like, two days, she researched microwaves. She read comparisons. Took measurements. Like, actual research.

A few days later, a package arrived at the door. A package much larger than one that would be needed for our current microwave.

I opened it up. And there it was – a big, beautiful, fully functioning microwave.

I nestled it up on the counter, which had been occupied for years with a comically undersized shoebox of a microwave. It looked like what an actual grown-up would have in their kitchen.

And the first time I cooked with it? REALLY overcooked a microwave lunch pizza. Because I forgot you don’t have to like triple the time it says on the package, since this thing actually works.

The kids even remarked on how much they liked it, including the feature where they can press a button and it adds 30 seconds to their dish. Because that is the kind of hardships they have had to endure.

So I now feel as if we have a complete kitchen, and I am now cleared of my microwave sin. And most importantly, I think we’ve all learned an important lesson: Don’t leave me in charge of things like this.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.