Born with a Beard

By Ted Ringer

A "Bedtime Story for Big Kids," this tells the funny story of a baby who, yes, was born with a beard. This is the tale of his family, told by the bearded one, from the unusual moment of his birth, up to the time he speaks his first, momentous words.

Dad battles a blizzard. Mom gets her hair done. Sister has designs on France. Gambling, fitness, romance––this family has it all!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ted Ringer
• Release date: Sep 29, 2010
• ISBN: 9780977795062

Ted Ringer

I am a writer and artist, originally from Minnesota and now (well, forever) living in Boulder, CO. I have published six novels and have taught writing in workshops and online for many years. I have several cartoon blogs on the Web and have a novel on Twitter that has been developing for over five years that may never end. My music blog, Paswonky - http://www.paswonky.wordpress.com - has been active for the last three years. Twitter Novel - fittolove_novel

Book preview

Born with a Beard

Ted Ringer

Published by Wonderful World Publishing at Smashwords

First digital edition, September 2010

Copyright © 2010 by Ted Ringer

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Convention.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews with attribution.

Illustrations: George Peters

Design: Katie Elliott

ISBN: 978-0-9777950-6-2

Published in the United States by Wonderful World Publishing

Boulder, CO, USA

http://www.wonderfulworldpublishing.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Find other ebooks on Smashwords at Ted Ringer's author page:

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Table of Contents

1. Born with a Beard

2. Life Goes On

3. We Listen to Music

4. At Play in the Kitchen

5. I Venture Outside

6. Day by Day

7. Dad Nears Forty

8. The Blizzard

9. Mom Meets Dad

10. Mom's Strange Idea

11. Baby Solidarity

12. Be Your Own Boss

13. Dad Works Out

14. The New Do

15. High Stakes

16. By the Beautiful Sea

17. Dad Meets Mom

18. Watch the Birdie

19. TV or Not TV

20. If Six Were Nine

21. On The Road

22. Mr. Fixit

23. My Oration

Born with a Beard

I was born with a beard. This was not something I had planned on. I didn't know how or why it was. It was just there. It was the first thing they noticed about me.

The doctor, although a professional, almost dropped me. The nurses stared and, behind their face masks, their jaws dropped open. I looked around and instead of the pleasant and welcoming looks I had been expecting, I saw shock, dismay, bewilderment, and fear. Even on my parents’ faces. I cried.

This broke the spell that my entrance had caused. My parents, though puzzled, instinctively comforted me as they looked at each other for support. Later, they drove me home from the hospital and, when they thought I was sleeping, I heard my father say, Nobody in my family was born with a beard. Heck, I didn't even shave until I was nineteen.

As he finished saying this he took his eyes off the road and looked pointedly at my mother. She responded, Well, no one in my family was like that. We were all girls.

My father was a businessman and he wasn't about to accept that. He said, What about your mother's mustache?

My mother drew her breath in sharply and told him to keep his eyes on the road.

My father had a sense of humor, but sometimes he didn't get far with it.

When we got home, they propped me up in a chair and took a good look at me. I was looking at them, too. Dad had a serious expression on his face like he had just eaten something he regretted. He was what I took to be tall, with just a hint of trouble around the middle. This he hid fairly well with a cardigan sweater. His hair was dark with streaks of white and, unlike his son, he was clean-shaven. His hands were folded as if in prayer, in front of his face. For all I knew, he was praying. I liked him.

I liked the way Mom looked, too. She had a wonderful kind of glow to her. Her hair was the color of my beard but with tiny, elegant streaks of gray through it. She looked sophisticated in her cotton suit but, as she looked at me, she couldn't keep herself from giggling and making little hiccuping noises. I responded with noises of my own which she found charming.

She said to my father, You see, he's just like a real baby.

To me, she said, Goo, goo, goo.

I could have done without the goo, goo, goo, but that's how she was. Her eyes were bright and they shone at me, her baby boy. She looked good for just having had a baby with a beard, and I loved her. I was confident that we would make a happy family.

Just as this soothing thought settled on me, a small child walked into the room. This was my sister and, as she came closer, I reached out my arms to her. I was grateful to have a playmate and I mumbled a message of welcome to her.

She shrieked, Mom, he's got a beard! and hid behind my father.

My mother said, Of course he's got a beard. He's your father's son.

Dad wasn't laughing.

My sister would not stop. She said, But he's an animal. He's like a dog.

At the time, I wasn't vain, but I knew I was not an animal and tried to say so. I growled something at my sister and she hid her face.

My father decided that it was time he took control. He did so in an odd way. He began by clearing his throat quite loudly. Not just a preparatory Ahem, but a long drawn-out clearing of his throat and perhaps his mind. It was, in its own way, commanding. He sounded like a bear.

Finally, he said, This is not an animal. This is your baby brother.

My sister, who had, by this time, regained her usual unchildlike composure said, But Dad, look at his face. That is not the face of a baby. What are we going to call him? Mr. Baby? Grandpa Baby?

My mother, who was always understanding and who also had a firm grip on reality said, This is the only brother you have, and here she looked at my father, and most likely the only brother you will have. He has a beard. I admit that is unusual, but it must be for a reason.

Yeah, my sister said, to save on bibs.

My mother, without acknowledging my sister's contribution, continued, We don't know what that reason is, but I'm sure, over time, it will become clear. He's too young to shave, so we're just going to have to get used to it.

My father was nodding his head.

Your mother is right. We don't know why he's like this, but you have to admit it's a pretty good beard. Not quite Santa Claus, but respectable. Dashing in its own way. Revolutionary.

My mother stiffened, It's not funny.

Dad looked at my sister, who only raised her eyebrows, knowing any comment from her would be unwelcome.

I looked at the three of them and wished that I had the words to tell them that it didn't matter if I had a beard; I was one of them. They were looking intently at me and I could see they were doubtful, but I felt happy. I was home and with my family and somehow it would all work out. At least, they had no intention of returning me to the hospital.

Just then my sister suggested, Maybe we could take him back?

Mom looked over at my sister and turned the parental spotlight on her, saying, This is your brother. He's small now but someday he will be bigger than you. You might find it wise to be nice to him. She added, Plus, behind that beard is probably a great little baby.

I nodded vigorously and almost fell off the chair.

Life Goes On

As the days went by, we all got used to each other. Dad appeared, at cribside, when he returned from his job in the city, going, Ho, ho, ho, and laughing. He thought he was pretty funny. I laughed, too. Any middle-aged man going Ho, ho, ho, is comical. He would then disappear into his den for cocktails.

My mother continued in the goo, goo, goo vein, but sometimes forgot I was a baby and begin to talk to me as if we were old friends. She would tell me the news: Eisenhower as president, Minneapolis in for more snow, and she would list the possibilities for my future: scholar, civic leader, head of a family. She then remembered the beard and, for her, the grand future faltered a little. She continued a bit shakily, but