Having an older dad never bothered me during childhood. I will always have fond memories of us playing and riding bikes together. Perhaps I kept him young!
When I was about 20, my dad’s health started deteriorating, and I started worrying. We had always been close, and I struggled to face the thought of losing him.
In the summer of 1990, he surprised me with an expensive 22nd birthday present: a Braun Linear rechargeable electric razor. (We always called them razors, not shavers.)
That might not sound much today, but back then, cordless rechargeable ones were relatively new and expensive.
I remember being taken aback and worrying about the cost of it; we were not a rich family.
My old one was heavy and had a thick power cable; the new one was the complete opposite. It was amazing, and I loved it.
I lost my dad a few months later that year, just before he turned 71.
My dad had been my best friend, and suddenly he was gone. It hit hard and I felt very alone.
My dad taught me that people are more important than things. But it gets complicated when you have a sketchy memory and things help remind you of lost loved ones.
That electric razor was the last gift he ever gave me. After using it daily for years, the battery failed later in the 1990s. I was determined to keep it going, so I dismantled it and went to great lengths to source a replacement battery.
I replaced other parts as the years passed, such as the foil and the cutting blades. Eventually, no more replacement parts were available and I stopped using it.
That razor has remained like an ornament on the bookcase next to my bed for all these years. I don’t often look at it, but I know it’s there. Is it silly to feel that it still connects me with my dad?
I have parted with several sentimental items connected with my late parents in recent years, some of which once felt unthinkable. But I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to let go of that razor.
Thank you for reading 💛
Alan