I was getting a haircut the other day, and the barber started shaving my hairline. He was using an old straight razor.
"Is that hard to learn, shaving with one of those things?"
"Not really," he said. "It's all in the angle you hold it. I wouldn't try it on myself, though."
That did not make me feel better. Nevertheless I asked him.
"Do you still have people come in with a full shave?"
"oh sure. Some men come in once a week for a shave. Others come in once a year, or for a special occasion as a treat."
"Why would a man want a shave for a treat?"
"Have you ever had one?"
Confessed that I had not.
"Well, you won't get it down at the hair styling place at the mall. It takes real barber to give a really close shave."
What the heck, I thought. I'm fifty-eight and never had a close shave.
"Okay, " I said. "Let's do it.
For the first time in my life, I experienced the ritual of a close shave. It was a formal ritual, a rite no less elegant than a Japanese tea ceremony or an Arab dinner, practiced by barbers since ancient times.
First he took a hot, wet towel and wrapped my entire face as he arranged his ritual instruments.
"What's that for?" My words were muffled by the towel.
"The heat makes the hairs stand up on the face. It makes them easier to cut.
'then he put hot lather over my whole lower half of my face, except for the goatee area. Then, with presice, flowing strokes, he trimmed the area next to the beard, the sideburns and the ears. A few long, quick strokes denuded the rest of the foamy area. Finally, he stepped back and admired his work. seeing a few rough spots, he dabbed more hot lather over them, and shaved them again. Finally, he wrapped the whole face again with a hot towel and topped it off with a splash of bay rum. Then, he spun the chair around and showed me his work. "What do you think?" he said.
It was amazing. For ten bucks, I felt like a million. My face was so smooth that fleas could use it as a slip-and-slide.
I was going to say something about grace at the end of this--how a common man can be made to feel like a man through this simple grooming ritual, and how much it is like the cleansing of sin available in God's grace, but that would probably be too preachy.
But I will say this, For one brief moment, I felt once again that I was a young man. At least fifty-five or fifty-six.
"Is that hard to learn, shaving with one of those things?"
"Not really," he said. "It's all in the angle you hold it. I wouldn't try it on myself, though."
That did not make me feel better. Nevertheless I asked him.
"Do you still have people come in with a full shave?"
"oh sure. Some men come in once a week for a shave. Others come in once a year, or for a special occasion as a treat."
"Why would a man want a shave for a treat?"
"Have you ever had one?"
Confessed that I had not.
"Well, you won't get it down at the hair styling place at the mall. It takes real barber to give a really close shave."
What the heck, I thought. I'm fifty-eight and never had a close shave.
"Okay, " I said. "Let's do it.
For the first time in my life, I experienced the ritual of a close shave. It was a formal ritual, a rite no less elegant than a Japanese tea ceremony or an Arab dinner, practiced by barbers since ancient times.
First he took a hot, wet towel and wrapped my entire face as he arranged his ritual instruments.
"What's that for?" My words were muffled by the towel.
"The heat makes the hairs stand up on the face. It makes them easier to cut.
'then he put hot lather over my whole lower half of my face, except for the goatee area. Then, with presice, flowing strokes, he trimmed the area next to the beard, the sideburns and the ears. A few long, quick strokes denuded the rest of the foamy area. Finally, he stepped back and admired his work. seeing a few rough spots, he dabbed more hot lather over them, and shaved them again. Finally, he wrapped the whole face again with a hot towel and topped it off with a splash of bay rum. Then, he spun the chair around and showed me his work. "What do you think?" he said.
It was amazing. For ten bucks, I felt like a million. My face was so smooth that fleas could use it as a slip-and-slide.
I was going to say something about grace at the end of this--how a common man can be made to feel like a man through this simple grooming ritual, and how much it is like the cleansing of sin available in God's grace, but that would probably be too preachy.
But I will say this, For one brief moment, I felt once again that I was a young man. At least fifty-five or fifty-six.
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