The end of my childhood, the advent of my manhood
"Does it hurt?" a 22-year-old boy asked his father.
"No," the old man said.
"Does it really hurt?" He asked his brother this time.
"No."
That was all he needed to hear. That is doesn't hurt. That it isn't bloody. That, unlike that scene in Pan's Labyrinth where the General was depicted as applying what looked like a Nestle cream to his face and sharpening his blade by rubbing it in a leathery material before using it on his own skin, shaving one's facial hair isn't as scary as it looks.
The second day of January marked a milestone. His official entry to manhood (his father said the same thing for circumcision, but shaving one's hair is more dramatic, albeit less painful). The end of his childhood. The time when he had to say goodbye to the thin, sparse hair outgrowth between his nose and upper lip, a region which, from hereon, would be gradually replaced by thicker, sturdier hair.
The 22-year old was now a man. The world had to know. And so did his mother. After the shaving session, he approached her, a woman absorbed watching the TV in the bedroom. He said, "Something's different with me. Look closer."
"Uhm, but I don't notice anything," the mother answered.
While he mourned for mother's lack of observational skills, he went back to his room and looked at his before-and-after photos. He realized, in complete and utter disappointment, that the change wasn't as life-changing. That there wasn't that much hair to begin with.
You see, I write this because I am that man. And when I walk right up to you anytime today, don't forget to say "That's a neat shave!" even if you don't see anything different. What are friends for, right?
"No," the old man said.
"Does it really hurt?" He asked his brother this time.
"No."
That was all he needed to hear. That is doesn't hurt. That it isn't bloody. That, unlike that scene in Pan's Labyrinth where the General was depicted as applying what looked like a Nestle cream to his face and sharpening his blade by rubbing it in a leathery material before using it on his own skin, shaving one's facial hair isn't as scary as it looks.
The second day of January marked a milestone. His official entry to manhood (his father said the same thing for circumcision, but shaving one's hair is more dramatic, albeit less painful). The end of his childhood. The time when he had to say goodbye to the thin, sparse hair outgrowth between his nose and upper lip, a region which, from hereon, would be gradually replaced by thicker, sturdier hair.
The 22-year old was now a man. The world had to know. And so did his mother. After the shaving session, he approached her, a woman absorbed watching the TV in the bedroom. He said, "Something's different with me. Look closer."
"Uhm, but I don't notice anything," the mother answered.
While he mourned for mother's lack of observational skills, he went back to his room and looked at his before-and-after photos. He realized, in complete and utter disappointment, that the change wasn't as life-changing. That there wasn't that much hair to begin with.
You see, I write this because I am that man. And when I walk right up to you anytime today, don't forget to say "That's a neat shave!" even if you don't see anything different. What are friends for, right?
Labels: daily
posted on January 05, 2010
1 Comments:
that's a neat shave :) Kuya Lance, for someone who grows beard and mustache after every two days, shaving's normal. I can do it with ease even without a mirror now :)
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