- Joined
- Oct 8, 2006
- Messages
- 2,097
Ive already told this story over in the Razors subforum. Since its also a Christmas story, I thought Id repost it here. To my way of thinking, straight razors count as traditional.
When I was a kid, the paternal family gathered at my grandfathers on Christmas Eve. I had seven uncles and one aunt, so the house was crowded. Partway through the party, Santa arrived. We kids gathered in the living room eagerly awaiting him. Santa came through the door, all in red with white trim and beard. Over one shoulder he carried a big red sack. He exclaimed, Ho! Ho! Ho! and distributed presents. The collective uncles took turns at this duty, but they managed to fool the youngest children. This was actually a present exchange, not that the kids thought of it that way. Thank you, Santa!
It was at such a party that my grandfather told a secret. Just to the boys who were eager to grow up. Back thenand I expect todayyoure first shave was a rite of passage. Boys eager to grow up paid rapt attention. Ill tell you how to get your beard started. First smear cow manure on the outside of your face. Then smear chicken manure inside your mouth. They work together. The cow manure pulls and the chicken manure pushes. Youll sprout whiskers in no time. Call me a skeptic; I never tested his recipe.
Even without expert advice, I eventually sprouted whiskers. Not all at once, mind you. Just the normal adolescent sneak attack. Once that sort of thing starts, the writing is on the wall. I asked for a straight razor for Christmas.
By then cut throat razors were old fashioned. Used by barbers and older men. Safety razors had almost swept the field. But I had old fashioned tastes myself. Id certainly grown up seeing straight razors in medicine cabinets or dresser drawers. Come that Christmas Eve, Santa gave me a razor. Ho Ho!
I was proud to show off was my new razor. So one of my uncles gave me my first lesson in shaving. Other adult males watched the show, offering their own advice and commentary. Those uncles were all veterans the Hitler war. Using a straight razor was an essential male skill when they were growing up.
There were no suds involved. Brushes and soap and stropping were never mentioned. My first shaving lesson only involved using the razor. One kibitzer assured me, Youre going to be sore in the morning! I didnt complain. To my way of thinking, no other aspect of shaving mattered more than learning to use the razor. Especially the part about spilling no blood in the process. That razor was new, and sharp out of the box. Even dry, my youthful face fuzz was no match for it.
I dont remember any details. The lesson is overlaid by the years. It never stuck in my memory the way Granddads whisker recipe did. It must have been a good lesson. I shaved with that razor for years, before I grew a beaver.
When the immediate family opened presents on Christmas Day, I got a brush and the rest. My Dad was the one who taught me to lather a brush and use a strop.
When I was a kid, the paternal family gathered at my grandfathers on Christmas Eve. I had seven uncles and one aunt, so the house was crowded. Partway through the party, Santa arrived. We kids gathered in the living room eagerly awaiting him. Santa came through the door, all in red with white trim and beard. Over one shoulder he carried a big red sack. He exclaimed, Ho! Ho! Ho! and distributed presents. The collective uncles took turns at this duty, but they managed to fool the youngest children. This was actually a present exchange, not that the kids thought of it that way. Thank you, Santa!
It was at such a party that my grandfather told a secret. Just to the boys who were eager to grow up. Back thenand I expect todayyoure first shave was a rite of passage. Boys eager to grow up paid rapt attention. Ill tell you how to get your beard started. First smear cow manure on the outside of your face. Then smear chicken manure inside your mouth. They work together. The cow manure pulls and the chicken manure pushes. Youll sprout whiskers in no time. Call me a skeptic; I never tested his recipe.
Even without expert advice, I eventually sprouted whiskers. Not all at once, mind you. Just the normal adolescent sneak attack. Once that sort of thing starts, the writing is on the wall. I asked for a straight razor for Christmas.
By then cut throat razors were old fashioned. Used by barbers and older men. Safety razors had almost swept the field. But I had old fashioned tastes myself. Id certainly grown up seeing straight razors in medicine cabinets or dresser drawers. Come that Christmas Eve, Santa gave me a razor. Ho Ho!
I was proud to show off was my new razor. So one of my uncles gave me my first lesson in shaving. Other adult males watched the show, offering their own advice and commentary. Those uncles were all veterans the Hitler war. Using a straight razor was an essential male skill when they were growing up.
There were no suds involved. Brushes and soap and stropping were never mentioned. My first shaving lesson only involved using the razor. One kibitzer assured me, Youre going to be sore in the morning! I didnt complain. To my way of thinking, no other aspect of shaving mattered more than learning to use the razor. Especially the part about spilling no blood in the process. That razor was new, and sharp out of the box. Even dry, my youthful face fuzz was no match for it.
I dont remember any details. The lesson is overlaid by the years. It never stuck in my memory the way Granddads whisker recipe did. It must have been a good lesson. I shaved with that razor for years, before I grew a beaver.
When the immediate family opened presents on Christmas Day, I got a brush and the rest. My Dad was the one who taught me to lather a brush and use a strop.
