So This Might Be A Book

On Shaving

Today is/was my birthday depending on when you are reading this. Now normally I just am lazy on my birthday, but I feel that maybe is kind of missing the point of getting older. You grow older, yes. You look older, maybe a bit of peach fuzz on my face. I doubt I am any more mature though. Which is a sad realization.

I've been shaving for almost two years now, not an everyday thing. Maybe once a week, but still shaving. I used to think this is what made someone a man, because daddy does it and daddy is superman in his spare time. Growing up though is realizing that there is no quick way to do it. Maybe even no real way to do it.

Well you can be more mature than the person sitting to your left in History who thinks saying faggot after every name the teacher reads off in the text book is funny. That is at least somewhere to start. I still laugh at any word to express genitalia and this probably isn't changing.

I am immature. That is pretty obvious if you spend more than five minutes around me and I'm not in a bad mood. You will see the idiocy radiate off of me like a sun comprised mostly of fart jokes and giggling whenever 69 is the answer to anything.

Today I'm sixteen though. I'm almost an adult, daddy isn't superman anymore. Daddy is a man struggling to pay for bologna sandwiches now. Trying so hard not to break down and lose whatever bit of dignity he has left. The world has kicked him around yet I never hear him complain. Then there is me, who complains about homework, complains about taking the trash out, and lies constantly to make things seem worse than they really are.

I haven't been able to see my father shave for a long time but he does. Removing tiny pricks of hair that used to tickle my face when I was too little to realize hugging your dad every chance you got was embarrassing. Maybe those tiny hairs are signs of what you go through. No matter how much you shave them off they'll keep returning. The world is never done with you until you're gone from it.

Daddy isn't a superhero, but he's a much better man then I give him credit for. I'm sixteen today, this doesn't matter to the world. It matters to me alone. It's my call to get my shit together. Presents don't matter because as long as somebody even cared to look you in the eyes today. That's more than we deserve. I have to keep moving, and grow up a little. It's going to be a late night, but I have to earn the right to shave off my troubles.