A close shave
Sunday, April 4, 2010 at 11:07AM 
How far back can you remember?
One of my earliest memories is of a seven-year old version of me, standing on the toilet seat next to my father. We were both busy shaving, only my razor was made of Lego.
This was serious play.
Nearly thirty-three years later, I find myself looking into the bathroom mirror and seeing the reflection my 14-year old son standing next to me. He is taking his first shave.
It reminds me of the Lego-brick shaving episode and I momentarily wonder where the time has gone.
Thinking about it, though, I am not sure whether I really helped him that much or taught him anything new. Shaving, after all, is not exactly a fine art; and, these days, razors are such that you really have to work quite hard to do any lasting damage. That said, I wanted to mark the occasion, acknowledge the moment, and show a degree of fatherly support.
So I stood there. Watching. Feeling slightly awkward. Not quite sure what to say.
Now there are plenty of Dads out there writing about this ‘father-son’ moment, the significance of shaving as a rite of passage, as well as top tips for helping boys survive the perilous journey towards manhood.
Courtesy of YouTube, there’s even a step-by-step guide to first-time shaving that, if I had known, would have meant we could both have avoided those few awkward moments.
I guess that some dad, somewhere, figured that it would be easier simply to send his son a hyperlink. And he was probably right.
Or was he?
The thing is, the more I think about it, the more I realize that the important, significant moments in our life – those fragments that somehow take on universal, determinative significance for us – are almost always rather mundane, even slightly awkward, at the time. Whether it is a first shave, a first kiss, or even the birth of our children – it is often only after the fact that we fill them with infinite meaning and significance.
In other words, it is not the moment that is meaningful – but the story this moment subsequently allows us to tell.
I think both my son and I would acknowledge that our ‘moment’ was somewhat uncomfortable and that I shouldn’t make a habit, in the future, of watching him shave.
At the same time, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. For my story, I needed to be able to say I was there. For his story, he needed to have this memory of me to pass on to his own son one day.
Reader Comments (4)
Hi David, this is a very tender story. One of the most touching things for me to observe, is the care and pride that a father takes in his children.
Especially sweet for me is seeing a man (or male relative) pushing the baby buggy so very carefully.
And your story also led me to reflect that we have so very few Coming of Age rituals in western society - not even the big 21st party any more. But even less of those more private family or father-son / mother-daughter rituals.
Thanks for sharing
And keep the conversation magical!
Thanks for the feedback Lisa. I agree that we are somewhat devoid of these ritualistic moments. We live in an age where MTV's sweet 16 is perhaps one of the only stereotypes we have left!
Your comment about The Moment only becoming so afterwards rings very true. Then I start to question it's authenticity as a moment because surely a moment can only be a moment if it is perfect and poignant right there and then? However I know I have had many such blissful life-meaning moments and now forgotten them as I never wrote them down or retold them enough to make them a part of the memorised self-defining story of me.....Anna
Interesting that you should comment on 'The Moment'. This was a very important philosophical theme for Soren Kierkegaard. He believed that, contrary to other philosophers, the 'Moment' was never meaningful in and of itself. Here, though, we find ourselves led along the dark corridors of complex philosophy... Food for thought though!
Thanks for commenting.