My first solution was to stop shaving and trust my hair was properly combed. I just didn't want to see the scar in a mirror to avoid the memory of an ugly event that nearly claimed my life.
The dilemma worsened with each passing day. Instead of feeling better in time for surviving, I began to remember the terrible event more often and more vividly. It seemed as though I were experiencing the attack over and over day after day.
I finally sought help. My doctor's first question to me was, “Do you have a good relationship with your father?”
I said, “Yes. We have a great relationship.”
The doctor then asked if my father had taught me how to shave.
Before I could answer that question, a memory I had forgotten for many, many years popped into my head, and I immediately smiled.
“Doctor,” I replied, “This is so cool. I remember standing at my Dad's side as a little boy, infatuated with the process of shaving. It got to the point where when he shaved in the mornings I was always there watching him, asking endless questions.
“My Dad bought me a little plastic 'razor' and it even had a little knob on the bottom of the handle that opened the top, just like his real razor. The blade was a piece of cardboard that looked like a razor blade.
“After that, I got to smear shaving cream all over my face and shave with my Dad.”
My doctor then suggested that I think of this fun memory every time I shaved to displace the memory of the attack.
Everyone in my family remembers my little plastic razor after all these years. It has been so much fun reaching back to my boyhood, a time when I trusted everyone and yearned for the future. The “new” memory has replaced my violent memory.
I not only get to feel the love my Dad showed me when I shave today, I get to remember what it's like to be innocent once again.
Precious memories are made in an instant and last forever. I am so thankful my Dad had the patience back then to let me “shave” with him so that I can shave today without having to visualize an ugly event.
The memory alone has strengthened an already strong relationship. What made me very happy then is making me happier today. God bless you, Dad, and thanks for being such a great one!
(Mark Brennaman is publisher of WitWords, your online source for lots of laughs. You can email him at mark@witwords.com.)