The new beard would prove to be the missing element needed to complete his [my dad's] image of arch raconteur. It divided his round face, camouflaged his full cheeks, and gave a more pointed finish to a somewhat weak chin. He'd also ceased wearing his graying curly hair in the cropped, tight afro popular in the mid-seventies, and now brushed it straight, where it fell slightly below his ears. In what seemed a matter of months, he'd transformed from resembling the post-Brady Bunch Robert Reed, to the gruff romantic charm of Kenny Rogers. It seemed that everyone who met my father, from this point throughout the next half-decade, would at some point make the comparison to Kenny Rogers.
|After. Dad's beard in the early '80s was nearly identical to Kenny's.|