By Vicki Bahr 
My husband, John, had sideburns and a mustache when we were married. And I loved them.
He grew the first beard because he could. It was during our first weeks as a married couple, back in 1972, and the Navy had permitted enlisted members to have facial hair. They all pretty much had to grow beards, just on principle.
I remember looking over at him as we drove to Homestead, Florida, where we were stationed, and seeing the romantic, tortured face of Richard Harris from the movie Camelot and a suave, tuxedoed Robert Goulet smiling across the car at me with that cute little dimple my new husband had. And I loved him even more.
When John was discharged from the Navy and we came home, he began a new job that required clean-shaven employees. But any time he had time off, or we were on vacation, the beard—or at least the shadow of it—reappeared.
I loved watching our babies reach for John’s face and giggle, and listening to our youngest laugh until she hiccuped when he tickled her belly with his soft beard.
John finally had a job that allowed him to sport a beard, and I melted when I saw him coaching soccer teams, teaching our boys to ride their bicycles, and reading goodnight stories to our girls with just a hint of gray beginning to glisten in the glow of the nightlight.
But the beard could never last for long. It became a vacation luxury, and I looked forward to those lazy days of suntan lotion and toes in the sand, watching John’s smile as his beard slowly reappeared.
This time, years later, as I watched him touching up his moustache and combing the beginnings of a salt-and-pepper beard, I wondered about the timing. I suspected there was a connection between the beard and the radiation he was beginning to ensure the prostate cancer he had surgically removed six years ago would be well and truly gone forever.
I snuck up behind him at the dining room table and nuzzled my cheek against his beard, just as I had so many years ago when we were newly married.
He looked at me and smiled…that smile that always melts my heart and brings tears to my eyes.
“I’m growing it for the length of time I’m having radiation,” he said.
“I love that idea,” I whispered.
Richard Harris and Robert Goulet could never compete.
Behind the beard is my hero,
by HVFH Contributor 
by Katie Brady 
