My ten year old son shaved his arms yesterday. For those of you that were around two years ago, this event might remind you of the last time he worried over his hairy arms. If you weren’t, you might check out that story. It sets the stage well for this one.
Despite his third grade concern about turning into a “hairy beast”, I was still taken aback yesterday. He approached me and said, “Hey, mom. Feel this.” I rubbed the proffered arm and blinked in shock at the perfect smoothness awaiting me. He smiled proudly.
“Did you shave your arms?!” I asked.
“You really shouldn’t have done that. Come here,” I said, leading him to our bedroom where Jane and my husband were.
“Daryl shaved his arms,” I said. His Daddy, never one for any sort of societal conventions or expectations, smiled. I glared at him.
“Wait,” Jane said, “Did you use my razor?”
“No. There were three razors in there. I used the blue one.”
“That one was mine! You used my razor?!”
“Why did you shave your arms?” I asked.
“Because I looked like a spider!”
“No, you didn’t. You looked like a normal human.”
“No! I looked like a hairy spider.”
“People have hair on their arms, Daryl. Look. See my arm?” I asked, showing him my arm.
“You people are missing the most important problem here!” Jane interjected. “He. Used. My. Razor!”
“Daryl,” I said. “You don’t want to shave your arms. Unless you are wanting to join the swim team, that is. You have to keep doing it. It’s a pain. And the hair will grow back darker. Please don’t do it again.”
“Is anyone listening? He used my razor!”
“But it feels so good! Feel it!”
“Yeah, ok,” I said. “But you wanna know what it’s going to feel like tomorrow?”
I took his hand and walked over to my husband. I rubbed my son’s hand on his father’s stubbly shaved-the-day-before face. “Like that.”
“Because hair grows back, honey. That’s what hair does. Jane, keep your razor in your room if you don’t want him using it.”
“Great,” she said. “Now I’ll never shave again. Because I won’t think about shaving until I’m already in the shower but then my razor will be in my bedroom.”
The conversation meandered on to Jane’s inconsistent shaving habits. It was humorous and we all enjoyed the joking around, but I can’t remember the details now. I guess I was in too much shock to take in much beyond the fact that my son approaching puberty decided his arms were too hairy and took action on it.