My first shave

At the age of five, I witnessed a captivating scene: My father standing in front of the mirror, razor in hand, meticulously shaving his mustache.

The rasping sound of the blade against his skin intrigued me, and in my young mind, it seemed like a playful act. Unaware of its true purpose, I believed the razor to be a new toy awaiting my discovery.

Driven by curiosity, I devised a plan to satisfy my inquisitive nature as an innocent child. Seizing the opportunity while my parents indulged in their afternoon nap, I sneaked into their room and swiftly pocketed the razor, treating it as if one would savor a stolen cookie. With my prize secured, I stealthily maneuvered through the living room and made my way to the familiar confines of our backyard, where childhood adventures usually unfolded.

Escaping their notice, I experienced a surge of exhilaration and relief. Concealing myself behind a vibrant Santan plant, my heart pounded like thunder against my chest as I leaned against the fence, dreading the moment my parents might discover my mischief. Despite my nerves, the joy of possessing this newfound plaything was undeniable, even though the repercussions of their disapproval loomed.

Taking a moment to examine the razor, I treated it with the same careful contemplation as any other toy I owned.

After scrutinizing its features, I resolved to emulate my father’s shaving technique, albeit … this time without the aid of a mirror.

Running the blade over the imagined space where a mustache should grow (though, of course, none was present on my smooth face), I anticipated something extraordinary to unfold. Disappointingly, nothing of the sort occurred, leaving me disheartened.

Driven by frustration, I embarked on a second attempt, this time with increased force and carelessness. As expected, I ended up injuring myself, a painful reminder of my misguided actions.

Overwhelmed by pain, I cried out for help, my pleas echoing through the air like a lost child yearning for the safety of their parents.

Alarmed by my distress, my parents hurried to my aid, quickly noticing the wound I had inflicted upon myself. Concerned and bewildered, they sought an explanation, but fearing their potential scolding, I hesitated to reveal the truth. In their confusion, they even entertained the idea that our dog, Itim, may have been the culprit. To spare our beloved pet from unjust punishment, I finally confessed the truth, risking my father’s wrath toward our loyal companion.

Surprisingly, instead of reprimanding me, my parents responded with understanding and compassion. They comforted me and tended to my wound, the tangible outcome of my insatiable curiosity and stubbornness. Grateful for their care, I expressed my gratitude and sought their forgiveness, which they kindly granted. Time passed, and I continued to grow.

Though this incident occurred 24 years ago, the lessons I learned from that childhood experience remain etched in my mind to this day. It serves as a constant reminder that life often presents circumstances that may leave us wounded. And regardless of how much we try to run away from and defy our parents, one certainty remains: They will forever be there to offer solace and healing in a way that no one else can in this world.

Now as a full-grown man, I have embarked on the real journey of shaving, armed with my very own razor. And I have made a solemn promise to my father: that I would never steal his razor again.

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Benjamin Manantan Sabado, 29, is currently pursuing his master’s degree at the University of the Philippines Open University in Los Baños. He is a former university literature instructor but now works in the corporate world.