kind dark fuzzy proto-moustache that took its inspiration from mould that forms on top of old sour cream, The beginnings of facial hair sprinkled are randomly around a landscape of pimples. "Fatherless" is mentioned only because there was no one to teach me what to do. Fortunately, the best instructor of all appeared with great frequency on our black and white Philco TV; in truth, he was many men, but really all the same man: the hunky model, bearded with rich shaving cream. No matter what the brand of blade or cream, the money shot was the same: the Man dutched in the frame, grinning the grin at himself as he draws the blade across his jaw and chin in one smooth arc. So, now I knew how to shave.
I'm at my best friend, Armin's house. A fully fathered boy, supplied with everything I needed. In this case, one can of Barbasol, a nice creamy lather and one razor with a double edge blade inside. Back then, most razors closed around such a blade and arched it at the "perfect" cutting angle. Time to lather up. I pressed out a generous amount of aerosol cream, and spread it across my face. I, the pube was no
longer the pube. I was the hunk, angled in the mirror, razor poised for the shot. I'm a lefty so the blade is resting lightly just below my right ear at the jawline, I grinned my manly grin and brought the blade across, Hollywood all the way. It took about 10 nanoseconds for the pain, a little longer for the blood and a few beats for my girl-ey scream. I lost my faith in the verity of advertising (though I spent my career in it). I switched to an electric razor for aw
hile, but nothing shaves like a blade; and after awhile I learned to use one and then the next, passing from double edge to injector blades, to stainless blades, double bladed disposables, tripled edged razors and even quintuple bladed razors. I mastered it. Now I'm a father, and have the opportunity my own father didn't. To teach my child the art of the shave, close and pain free.
I'm at my best friend, Armin's house. A fully fathered boy, supplied with everything I needed. In this case, one can of Barbasol, a nice creamy lather and one razor with a double edge blade inside. Back then, most razors closed around such a blade and arched it at the "perfect" cutting angle. Time to lather up. I pressed out a generous amount of aerosol cream, and spread it across my face. I, the pube was no
longer the pube. I was the hunk, angled in the mirror, razor poised for the shot. I'm a lefty so the blade is resting lightly just below my right ear at the jawline, I grinned my manly grin and brought the blade across, Hollywood all the way. It took about 10 nanoseconds for the pain, a little longer for the blood and a few beats for my girl-ey scream. I lost my faith in the verity of advertising (though I spent my career in it). I switched to an electric razor for aw
hile, but nothing shaves like a blade; and after awhile I learned to use one and then the next, passing from double edge to injector blades, to stainless blades, double bladed disposables, tripled edged razors and even quintuple bladed razors. I mastered it. Now I'm a father, and have the opportunity my own father didn't. To teach my child the art of the shave, close and pain free. 
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