Beards: A moral minefield

Beards:

I woke up at God-awful o'clock so I could make it to Thorpe Park before the end of time (the M3 and M25 at rush hour is a just a little better than pounding carpet tacks into your testicles) and, God help me, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I was hungover, haggard looking, as if I've stumbled out of a forgotten wood after a ten year absence, reeking of fox piss and half-crazed with lice and rabies. To complete this enchanting ensemble, a rough and uneven stubble coated the bottom half of my head.
You see, I have been known to sport beards in the past, each one more horrible than the last; from the wispy 'MyFirst' (tm) pre-pubescent moustache, to a moustacheless goatee which made me look like a oil-coated goblin in a leather trenchcoat, to a 'My Razor Broke, I Will Not Buy Another One For 6 Months' beard, all the way to an Abraham Lincoln. I have not been known for my common sense, but whenever I looked in the mirror, I thought yes, this will do, you rampaging stallion.

I've been clean shaven for over a year now, and though I'm starting to get used to seeing my chin, though I prefer a bit of stubble (if I could get an even coat) I feel like I'm shooting myself in the foot, beard-wise. There are people who cannot grow beards (women feature prodominantly, but not exclusively), or they grow beards that end up like a pubic equivilent of Saturno, I cannot help but feel I'm letting the side down by shaving it all off; it's like a great painter breaking his hands over and over, saying to everyone else look at me, I cannot paint either, I am mundane, just like you.

Perhaps being able to grow a beard a curse that must be shaved off, lest people think me as a guy who wears a faded white Motorhead vest and listens to same to relax, and pounds cans of Crunk Juice at 10am at his job guiding theme park goers into parking spaces whilst smoking a rizla rollup with a twist. 

So what is the correct decorum for beards? My father has a beard, would it make him proud if I followed in his footsteps? Do I continue to shave, essentially rubbing the noses of everyone who can't grow one, or do I go clean shaven, and use a Groucho Marx glasses set when visiting family?

It truly is this age's Great Question.