How to Shave a Zach

I shave my son, Zach.

Let me back up.

I’m a single mom with three sons. I’ve taught them all the things, like turning off toilet water in an emergency, the care and upkeep of wool sweaters, and how to pee standing up (which involved aiming for Fruit Loops).

Of the three, Zach’s the oldest. He’s also the fuzziest. I’m not sure how his body manages, but it grows an impressive amount of hair and nails, like overnight. It also heals rapidly. Think, Wolverine. To date, Zach’s checked off 41 surgeries and almost double the hospitalizations. He’s a fairly high-functioning (and beyond creative) Williams Syndrome guy. One of Zach’s continuous medical challenges is visual impairment. At three months, Zach endured his first strasbismus surgery. At 18 months, he underwent intraocular lens (IOL) implants, restoring vision to both eyes. One of his many visual challenges includes depth perception. This means Zach struggles with up close work, like cooking, reading, and apparently, shaving, which I failed to think about until…

A week later, Zach asked, Can you make my face into a goatee?

You bet, I said, unaware of the training I would undertake.

I spent three days researching goatee styles.

Who knew the number of shapes one could make out of facial hair?

Zach had his own thoughts of how he wanted his goatee.

I filled with deep gratitude that I held zero face-shaving experience, though my older female friends tell me I will need this skill someday, adding, You’re so lucky to have Zach’s help.

I like to think Zach continuously trains me in life and love.

I spent three more days researching perfect goatee-ing. Yes, there’s a goatee system. You need supplies, like a mustache comb, beard trimmer, and precision trimmer. I spent $252 on a variety of highly recommended (by Google) devices.

I developed a list of goatee-shaping steps:

1. Trim beard hair. This sounds easy. Do not be fooled. Zach’s folicles grow in every direction and super thick. The end result initially looked like a patch of wheat on top of a pile of dried grass. I worried. I ate a snack. I kept going.
2. Create an outline. I’m a writer. I’m a poet. I’m an artist. None of my own experiences applied. Apparently, the outline of the goatee needs to compliment the shape of the face. For example, wider goatees look better on longer faces. My brain blew up. I took a nap. I woke. I kept going.
3. Style around lips. If you’re unfamiliar, there are as many under lip styles for goatees as their are stars in an Idaho sky. Zach wanted a triangle. I made a triangle out of a tiny patch of hair. We immediately removed the shape because Zach didn’t like MY idea of a triangle. I stressed. I hugged a pup. I kept going.
4. Trim goatee to desired length. This required combing with a teeny comb made for Barbie (I didn’t tell this to Zach). We reduced the length of his goatee. He was happy. I was relieved. I ate another snack. I kept going.
5. Tidy. Clean all the non-goatee areas. This took the longest because, according to Zach, I kept missing hairs. I tell you, Zach could find a hair in a haystack. My wrist cramped. I paused. I stretched. I kept going.

If I’m honest (and I am), I’d tell you that Zach and I shave him four times a week. This does not include his eyebrow trim, the tops of his big toes (his kind of a Hobbit too), or his back (this will be shared in a part two blog at a later date). We play music. We laugh (which messes up my highly developed precision shaving). We bust out a dance move (also not great during shaving time).

I take my shaving job seriously.

This year, Zach underwent two heart surgeries. Both required shaving his chest. Zach asked me to do this the night before each procedure.

You know, the surgical team will do this again before your surgery, I reminded him.

I know, he said. But, I trust you.

This type of love breaks me. Every time.