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Now . . .on with today's post.
"Ma, ya gotta wax my unibrow!" This is what my son yelled at me from the back of the van on the way to dinner last night. My daughter, sensing an opportunity to insult her brother launched into a tirade about his brow line, demanding that I shave "The Hawk" because it's heinous. We have referred to my son's brows as "The Hawk" since around second grade when it became crystal clear to us that his Russian and Sicilian roots were making themselves known above his eyes. They grow in an malevolent looking downward turn toward the bridge of his nose, forming a V shape, like a hawk soaring in the sky.
When the boy was little, he was pale. Hmmm, no, that's not right. He was clear. And skinny. I can remember my father asking me "Does he eat?", which of course he did, but as he had enough energy in him to power a small city, he burnt it off as faster than he could take it in. His Doctor nicknamed him the perpetual motion baby because he would pick him up under the arms and hold him in the air and his arms and legs would be pedaling and spinning like he was running a marathon. So with his skinny, ghostly countenance and the eventual sprout of freckles across his face, I thought he would take after the Scotch/Irish side. But judging by his brows, I apparently went on a black out drunk, wandered into the woods and had relations with a Yeti. My husband hasn't made any accusations yet, but I would imagine that by the time the boy is 21, his paternity may come under question.
So after dinner, we stopped by the Rite Aid Drug store and headed for the depillitory section. He helped me select some wax strips (yes, he's brand loyal, he's a teenager) and we bailed. When we got home we headed to the bathroom and we began the familiar ritual of cutting the wax stips to size and we got to rippin. My son, sensing the intimacy and quiet of the moment did what he always does and he took the opportunity to ask me for something. "Hold still and be quiet," I told him. "I need to concentrate. You don't want to look like one of those douchy guys that shaves lines in your eyebrows, do you?" But he was undaunted by the possibility of a waxing mishap and he came at me again with his request. I did my best to ignore his pleas for a new video game and I focused on the task at hand. Zip. Zip. Zip. Aaaaah, human again.
I took a deep breath and I looked at his freckled face and at his thick head of brown hair. He was adorable. He gave me a bracefaced smile and a look of anticipation for my answer. I looked at him for a second, sighed a heavy sigh and sent him out to the woods to ask his father.