Today I was standing in line waiting to pay
for a few groceries and just like that an
old memory came back that I had no idea was
locked up for so many years. How does this happen.
Is it a smell, a word, a sight?
Guess I'll never figure out how it happens, huh?

When I was a young boy back in the 40s, of course,
like most people other than the rich we had only one bathroom.
It was a small bathroom that did not have a shower
like most in my town,
only a tub. I remember I would wake up knowing
I had to go to that bathroom and do it as soon as possible.
On Saturdays sometimes my Dad would be in there already
and I would ask if I could come in. If he was through
with whatever Men did he would say "Sure Bobby".
"All I have left to do is shave"..I would finish up what I had
to do and many times just stand near the doorway
of that bathroom watching him go through all the steps
he did in order to shave"properly" as he pointed out
to me.

Watching him was fascinating.

He had this glass mug with a brush inside it and the
first thing he did was warm the faucet water
and let a little of it into that mug.
Then he would take that brush and whip it around
and around in the mug until it was all soapy
from whatever those mugs held.
The soapy brush was always put to both sides
of his neck first and then to his cheeks,
chin and above his lip. When he was satisfied
with his work he would look a little like Santa Claus
with straight jet-black hair.

Then came my favorite part.

He would open the Medicine cabinet above the sink
and take out his Brass Razor.
He unscrewed it from the bottom and put a new razor blade in it.
He told me once that Gillette made that Razor
and the blades and they were the very best a man could buy.
My Dad seemed to know an awful lot about a lot of different things
and I always listened carefully to him.
He would screw the razor back together making sure he was
careful with that new blade and always pull his neck
down tightly on one side.
About 4 swipes and that side was done and he would do
exactly the same on the other side.
He was always very careful shaving the front of his neck,
top of his lip and chin.

Boy, I remember that.

Then came his cheeks that went less careful but particular
care was given to where his sideburns
were which he had little of back then.
This was the 40s.He ran the warm water
and kind of patted it on his face to clean up
the left over foam, put away his razor then dried off
with a towel.Finally he opened his bottle
of Mennen after-shave and patted it on his face.
I'll never forget the smell of that. Sometimes he
would pour a little of this white powder he called
talcum into his hands and pat his face with it
and I remember how smooth it felt.
One day he shook a little onto my tiny hands
and told me to rub in all over them.
Boy did they feel smooth and the scent was nice too.
He once told me that Talcum powder was made
from some sort of clay and was a mineral.

Yes, my Dad knew a lot.

After that I would climb up on the toilet seat
once in awhile and go through all the steps
my Dad went through to shave.
The wet brush was so warm and the shaving
cream felt so smooth.
I would look at myself in the mirror and be sure
I had it everywhere
Dad did by moving big lumps of it around my little face
with my fingers.
Afraid to use his sharp razor I used my toothbrush
handle to "shave" with, first my cheeks,
under my nose and finally my neck.
Washing off the cream left after shaving had it's own routine.
You ran the water warm and splashed it on your face
until all the cream was gone then dried off with his towel.
Finally my favorite part came when I splashed on the shaving lotion
and patted my face with it, being sure I had it on my neck also.
Then that soft sweet smelling talcum powder.

What silly things old men like me remember about those
days when it was just Mom, Dad, Johnny, Louana and I?

I wish I could watch him just one more time, close my eyes
and smell those long lost scents, but it's almost 60 years later.
I guess having the memory may even be better.

In today’s world, a child’s life has become so complicated. TV,
Computers, hand held games have replaced just sitting on the
floor with Dad and Mom listening to the Radio
and the Fibber McGee and Molly show or on Sunday night
laying in the bunk bed with your arm down so Johnny
could hold your hand when the scary "The Shadow" came on.

I wish every boy and girl could have a taste of those
simple yet wonderful times.

©Bobby Smith 2003