My Father’s Shaving Mug.
I used to marvel at the ease he could do this and kept wishing for the day that I would be able to go through this ritual. I felt it was just a step closer to growing up and becoming a man. So as any kid who wanted to be like his father and to be grown up, one day when no one was at home, I got my fathers razor and shaving mug out. I got the towels and wash clothes and prepared myself for my first step into manhood. I did everything just as I had seen my father do so many times before. I prepared my face with the hot clothes and waited. Then I made the lather in his mug and got the razor. My first stroke of the razor should have told me that I was going to need a lot of experience to get it right. Just with the first pull of the razor blood starting tricking down my neck. I dabbed at it with the wash cloth and keep on going. To cut a long story short by the time I got through it looked like Custers last stand there was so much blood. It didn’t help that I was going through a bad case of acne at the time either.
When my Father finally got home he didn’t chastise me or make fun of my shaving experience, but told me next time to let him know and he would show me how it was done. I was eight years old at that time and even with the bloody face, I kept thinking to myself I’m a man today. Needless to say that first experience was enough to last me for a long time. Plus once my brother and sisters saw the results, they razzed me unmercifully. So I didn’t try again for a long time.
As with many things my father’s razor was lost or thrown away, but I have managed to keep his shaving mug and his shaving brush. I can look at both of them and it brings back good memories of watching my Father shave and my first shaving experience. Sometimes I wonder at how such little, inconsequential things can bring back such a wealth of memories and how glad I am that I have my Fathers mug and brush.