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Posted: July 5th, 2007 at 2:38am By: Anne E. Ulvestad
Christopher's mom is coming in from overseas this week. After being away from her since February, he is excited and wants to look his best. So began the adventure of one of those times that every mother dreams of — and that Christopher shared with me — the first shave!
For the past few months that peach fuzz on his cheeks and chin has been growing longer. A few days ago, he asked for masking tape. "What do you need tape for?" I asked. His first plan had been to pull out the hairs so they wouldn't grow back as quickly as they would if he shaved them.
Not being an idea I went for, Christopher put his first shaving experience on hold. But now mom was coming and he came to me for help. "Don't you want to ask your mom to help you with this?" These firsts in the life of a child are so precious. But he insisted that this was something that had to be done now. It was also something that he didn't want to announce to the world.
My thinking was that all young men were proud of their hair. This was the time of their life for growing mustaches, beards and sideburns. However, I hadn't thought deeply enough about the vulnerability that this particular situation created. It wasn't just the maturity this ceremony engendered, but the public acknowledgment of responsibility that came along with claiming one's manhood that had to be considered.
Christopher was wise enough to know that despite the added facial hair, he wasn't ready yet to declare his manhood in a public rite of passage. He wasn't prepared to assume the bravado associated with this daily ritual. However, not wanting to call attention to the fact that manhood was imminent, he did want to shave.
How often do we allow ourselves the vulnerability to admit our limitations, to ourselves or to others? Yet it is this very acceptance that endears us to others who feel trusted and relied upon. Being vulnerable may also open up new avenues of assistance and interaction, giving us the courage and support needed to advance to a higher or deeper level of maturity.
"Are you sure you don't want Uncle Odd Inge to help you? He has a razor and lots of experience." No, he had already decided I was the one to trust since his mom was not around. So, armed with my daughter's shaving cream and my pink disposable razor, we set to work.
Taking turns with lather and blade, we slowly made our way down one cheek, then the other, and up the chin. I told him the story of my first experience shaving my legs. I borrowed my Dad's razor, and the next time he used it he noticed that it had lost its edge. Having eight brothers, I never had to own up to my indiscretion!
The next day we were leaving. He went to say goodbye to my daughter. They drive each other crazy, but Kjersti has admitted that she likes having him around. He, on the other hand, hasn't quite forgiven her for spraying water on him, since he was never able to adequately pay her back. As he hung back, not knowing how much of a leave-taking to display, she held out her arms to him for a hug. He bent down to receive it and then presented her with a newly shaved, baby-soft cheek to be kissed.
Now we are on the train, on the way to Boston. Christopher's smooth cheek is on my shoulder, and he has taken my hand in his. I thank God for young boys who are not afraid to admit that they aren't all grown up yet. That will happen soon enough. In the meantime, we will continue to practice opening our hearts and our lives to each other, remembering that vulnerability, rather than being a weakness, is another word for strength of character and clarity of intent.
— — —
Anne E. Ulvestad is a free-lance writer residing in Maryland. She has her masters in earth literacy, and is available for public lectures and group presentations and rituals on Spirituality and the Environment. Anne can be reached at {email anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com}anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Anne E. Ulvestad.
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Christopher's mom is coming in from overseas this week. After being away from her since February, he is excited and wants to look his best. So began the adventure of one of those times that every mother dreams of — and that Christopher shared with me — the first shave!
For the past few months that peach fuzz on his cheeks and chin has been growing longer. A few days ago, he asked for masking tape. "What do you need tape for?" I asked. His first plan had been to pull out the hairs so they wouldn't grow back as quickly as they would if he shaved them.
Not being an idea I went for, Christopher put his first shaving experience on hold. But now mom was coming and he came to me for help. "Don't you want to ask your mom to help you with this?" These firsts in the life of a child are so precious. But he insisted that this was something that had to be done now. It was also something that he didn't want to announce to the world.
My thinking was that all young men were proud of their hair. This was the time of their life for growing mustaches, beards and sideburns. However, I hadn't thought deeply enough about the vulnerability that this particular situation created. It wasn't just the maturity this ceremony engendered, but the public acknowledgment of responsibility that came along with claiming one's manhood that had to be considered.
Christopher was wise enough to know that despite the added facial hair, he wasn't ready yet to declare his manhood in a public rite of passage. He wasn't prepared to assume the bravado associated with this daily ritual. However, not wanting to call attention to the fact that manhood was imminent, he did want to shave.
How often do we allow ourselves the vulnerability to admit our limitations, to ourselves or to others? Yet it is this very acceptance that endears us to others who feel trusted and relied upon. Being vulnerable may also open up new avenues of assistance and interaction, giving us the courage and support needed to advance to a higher or deeper level of maturity.
"Are you sure you don't want Uncle Odd Inge to help you? He has a razor and lots of experience." No, he had already decided I was the one to trust since his mom was not around. So, armed with my daughter's shaving cream and my pink disposable razor, we set to work.
Taking turns with lather and blade, we slowly made our way down one cheek, then the other, and up the chin. I told him the story of my first experience shaving my legs. I borrowed my Dad's razor, and the next time he used it he noticed that it had lost its edge. Having eight brothers, I never had to own up to my indiscretion!
The next day we were leaving. He went to say goodbye to my daughter. They drive each other crazy, but Kjersti has admitted that she likes having him around. He, on the other hand, hasn't quite forgiven her for spraying water on him, since he was never able to adequately pay her back. As he hung back, not knowing how much of a leave-taking to display, she held out her arms to him for a hug. He bent down to receive it and then presented her with a newly shaved, baby-soft cheek to be kissed.
Now we are on the train, on the way to Boston. Christopher's smooth cheek is on my shoulder, and he has taken my hand in his. I thank God for young boys who are not afraid to admit that they aren't all grown up yet. That will happen soon enough. In the meantime, we will continue to practice opening our hearts and our lives to each other, remembering that vulnerability, rather than being a weakness, is another word for strength of character and clarity of intent.
— — —
Anne E. Ulvestad is a free-lance writer residing in Maryland. She has her masters in earth literacy, and is available for public lectures and group presentations and rituals on Spirituality and the Environment. Anne can be reached at {email anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com}anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Anne E. Ulvestad.
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