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This was my grandfather’s double-edged safety razor. When I first happened upon it, it was in the cabinet behind the mirror in my parents’ bathroom. I was 16. My father, despite the fact he was never much for non-electric shaving, had held on to it for more than three decades since his father’s passing. I started using it a few years later. I continued to use it for several years, until it mysteriously disappeared about ten years ago.

I experimented with several other shaving systems, but didn’t care for any of them as much as I did the old-fashioned stainless safety razor my grandfather once used. I even picked up a cheap, slightly more modern version of it in a drug store, but it just didn’t seem to work as well as the original. So I gave up hope.

Then, out of the blue, my father found it the other day and passed it along to me again. I tried it out again yesterday. About a half dozen nicks and scrapes later, I realized my safety razor technique had become somewhat less safe. But I’m thinking I’ll give it another go. I’m hoping I can relearn the skill I used to have down pat.

The desire to go back to this practice may have more to do with my having so few direct links to my paternal grandfather, who exhaled his last breath 16 years before I drew my first. Maybe his safety razor is one of those rare links. Or maybe I just liked using it that much.

Happy Father’s Day to all the paternal types out there. This year I decided to blog the occasion by posting a handwritten version of a haiku from a couple years ago. I’ll be seeing my father later today, but I wanted to post this slight bit of recognition to kick things off.

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rarely have there been
causes more deserving of
our celebration

*
I spotted a refreshing piece of news coverage this past week, when it became known that Sister Mary Scullion was named to Time’s 100 Most Influential list. For those not in the know, Sister Mary is a Philadelphia nun who co-founded Project H.O.M.E., a cause I’ve personally supported for the past few years. Earlier this year, I decided to donate whatever 2009 profits my book yields to this worthy cause.

Sister Mary and the Project H.O.M.E. community have made much more than a dent in the scourge of homelessness in the City of Brotherly Love, and all I really want to say is that it’s good to see an influential persons list that includes those who don’t spend their lives as celebrities or self-serving power brokers. I can think of few people I would be happier to see on the Time list than Sister Mary Scullion.

**
I spent this past Saturday morning and early afternoon celebrating the first communion of the firstborn daughter of one of my dearest old friends. People who know me know I adore children — not just my incredible collection of nieces and nephews (one of whom celebrated her own first communion the Saturday prior) — perhaps because I retain such a connection to my own childhood. It was nice to see their family celebrate such a fine moment, and especially nice to have been included in it.

***
Earlier today I stopped in a the Yum Yum Bake Shop on the corner. I was trying to choose an appropriate combination of donuts from those available. The girl behind the counter remarked, somewhat apologetically, that the selection was “sparse.” It occurred to me how rarely words like “sparse” are used, especially by younger folks (the young woman behind the counter appeared to be in her late teens, possibly early twenties).

I complimented her choice of words, at which point she commented that she is sometimes “verbose.” I responded she must be a writer. She said she was.

I guess we’re everywhere.

(Sorry, by the way, for not handwriting the haiku — it was an afterthought)

I’m the last deadbeat,
suckling undeservedly
on your sympathy

resist the contempt
bred by familiarity;
just appreciate.

image: Denise Gould

a man of substance,
eschewing symbology,
shows love quietly.

On Father’s Day I wanted to creep back into the habit of expressing something relevant about my father.

It’s funny how most of what I admire about my father revolves around the concept of quiet expressions of love through action. Maybe it fascinates me because it goes against the grain of what I tend to do when I write. No matter what words I can manage, they will pale against the profound eloquence of those simple, often selfless actions that have been the hallmark of my father’s life as I’ve observed it.

So before I muddy it up with any more flailing attempts at eloquence, I just want to say thanks to my father, and wish all the other dads out there a great Father’s Day.