Things my father never taught me.

“You always go around things. Me, I go straight at them.”

It’s hard to remember if it was a short lesson or a trigger moment waiting for some filial bonding, but I never bothered to respond.
I have never bothered to respond.
Some thoughts are left best unprocessed like those little, raw, expressions that can make you laugh or make you cry.
Blank.

Looking at myself in the mirror this morning was, as usual, not a rewarding sight.
New hairs had overnight found their way into unwelcome sites as their peers above looked down wondering what their growth secret was. Yet the promise of a clean shave gave new hope for at least being cosmetically prepared for the new day.
Somehow it had all become a polished routine, mastered over time under the challenge of time constraints and blunt razors. Long and short strokes mixed with a flurry of razor action, brushing teeth without the sweet aftertaste.

And then it hit me,
how many times had I cut myself learning to shave?
How many questions did I ask the experts on the mater of shaving near or around pimples?
Is it better to lather up with hot or cold water?
How many times had my own pride stopped me from asking what the blunt man had to offer me?
Now I’m an expert?