I would happen by the open bathroom door some mornings, and I would see my father shaving. Dad would be standing there with this small object in his hand. The object would be plugged in and buzzing loudly. I would see my Dad running it all over his face and neck. I didn’t initially perceive that it was shaving off his stubble or accomplishing anything at all; it just seemed like a very curious activity. Frankly, this rudely buzzing object didn’t seem like anything I’d want anywhere near my face!
At least once, I asked my father what he was doing. “I’m shaving,” was his reply, as if that explained everything. Well, it didn’t, but I didn’t pursue the matter. I finally figured out what was going on by seeing Fred Flintstone shaving off his animation-enhanced stubble on TV. Then I began to notice other things – like if my Dad stayed home from work for a few days, he would start to get rough whiskers on his face. I remember that they felt as rough as the nastiest sandpaper I might have found in his basement workshop.
That’s all. No moral here. No insights other than what my readers may contribute. Just a small snapshot of naïve childhood.