Scott A. Gese
The razor once belonged to my father.
I had forgotten about it and only happened across it as I cleaned out a cluttered drawer in the upstairs bathroom. My dad thought highly of this razor. It was an Ever~Ready brand safety razor that held a double edge blade. It was gold with a very ornate handle.
I lifted it from the hinged case he always kept it in. I was surprised that it had some weight to it. As I held it in my hand, long forgotten memories flooded back to the forefront of my mind.
I recall sitting on the toilet seat watching him shave with the precision of a surgeon. Rarely would he nick himself. With his razor in my hand I sat down on the toilet seat and in less than a moment I was there, watching him one more time.
He ran his hand over his whiskers, examining them. Maybe wondering what he might look like with a full beard. He then turned on the water, hot, all the way. He let it run until he was finished. His shave cream was in a cup along with a brush he used to apply the shave cream. I can hear him whistling as he whisks the brush in the cup building up a lather. He paints his face with a thick foam. I recall thinking how he looks just like Santa.
Next comes the razor out of its case. Steam boils from the sink and the mirror begins to fog. He wipes it off. Staring intently into the mirror he starts. He has a routine. Sides first, then under the chin, across the upper lip and then the lower. With each long slow swipe he rinses the razor and his severed whiskers wash down the drain.
He towels off his face and admires himself in the foggy mirror. Next comes my favorite part and the whole reason I'm there. He pulls out a bottle of Old Spice aftershave and sprinkles some into the palm of his hand, rubs them both together and gently pats it onto his face. He smiles and turns to me.
“Would you like some Foo Foo Juice?”
“Ya!,” I eagerly reply.
He pats my face down with a liberal amount of the sweet smelling cologne and laughs. “Best smelling kid on the block. Watch out for the girls,” he calls out as I run out of the room in delight.
As I got older he would lather me up and give me shaves. It felt good to be shaving with my dad. I didn't find out until much later that he used the back of the razor.
I stood up and set the razor on the counter next to the sink. I look in the mirror, run my hand across my face. I don't have the thick whiskers my dad had, but I do have his razor. I turn on the water, hot, all the way and reached for the cream.
© Copyright 2018 by Scott A. Gese All Rights Reserved.