Ever since I could talk, or much less slobber over myself trying to, I wanted to be just like my dad. Dad included me in everything he did, whether it be fixing up the car to completely reshingling the roof of our house. I wanted to do it all!



One warm February night my dad introduced me into the astonishing world of shaving. I started to weep uncontrollably when my dad cut himself on accident. Giving me a warm smile, he picked me up and showed me how to put toilet paper over his wound. A sense of relief had swept over me, knowing that the cut was only superficial.



Now this is the part where you sit back and enjoy listing to my ignorance.

Being an adventurous and rebellious ten years old, I snuck back into the bathroom and picked up the prized razor. Doing exactly how my father showed me, I picked up the shaving cream, not knowing how much to put, and dispensed half of the can into my hand. After applying what felt like a third coat of skin, I picked up the razor and gingerly started to trim the very few hairs of “peach fuzz” that I had. The noise of the hair grinding up against the razor made me feel as if I was mowing six acres of grass.



After going through one razor and half a can of shaving cream I had looked at a reflection of my self. But for some reason I felt as if something had left me. Looking down, pieces of hair mixed with shaving cream appeared before me. My dad had already cleaned up the bathroom (making it spotless as he always does) so where did the hair come from. It took me another glance in the mirror to realize that when I had put shaving cream on my face I covered and then shaved my WHOLE FACE, taking off every parcel of hair, including my eyebrows.

“Their once was a boy named Zach whose eyebrows he did lack. He shaved’ em one day and they all went away and he prayed they would comeback.” That song, written by my father Marc Almond, was one of the many boundless insults that I had to endure. It took three very long weeks for those precious eyebrows to grow back.

Looking back, I can honestly say that through the teasing, the songs and jokes from my family, I really did feel what it was like to be different. It really inspired me to want to treat people like I wanted to be treated.

At the price of my self-esteem and my eyebrows, I learned that it hurts to be made fun of and that I should be nice to everyone.