Rolando: One Eyebrow Short

September 2nd, 2017

Last week I had this weird experience where a childhood memory just popped into my head.

Now I’m not talking about when something triggers a childhood memory and you relive the experience–no, not one of those experiences.

I’m saying the damn thing just appeared out of no where. I must’ve suppressed that childhood memory because I had no recollection of it prior to that moment, but it all came flooding back in a flash.

And with it came a tide of  shame and embarrassment, followed by confusion and  a whole lot of unanswered questions.

‘Oh, shit,’ I thought when the memory first popped into my head, ‘I shaved one of my eyebrows off when I was a kid. Why the hell did I shave my eyebrow off?’

I don’t remember all the details of the incident, but I had to be around six or seven-years-old and was taking a bath when I somehow got a hold of my dad’s razor.

I don’t remember actually shaving my eyebrow entirely off, either. I just remember walking into my parents’ room after I got out of the bathtub and the horrified look on my mom’s face.

“Oh my God, what did you do to your face?” she screamed, with a look of complete horror on her face as she gasped.

Instantly I knew I had done something wrong. I played dumb and tried to defuse the situation: “What? What are you talking about?”

“What happened to your eyebrow?” she screamed. “It’s gone.”

A feeling of panic cut through my body as I tried to find an explanation that made sense. Whatever reason I originally had to shave off my own eyebrow wasn’t going to cut it.

I came up with the best excuse my young mind could find: “It just happened. I didn’t do anything.”

That pissed my mom off even more.

“Your eyebrow didn’t fall off your face, Rolandito,” she snapped. “Were you playing with your father’s razor?”


“Don’t lie to me, boy.”

“No, mommy.”

“I’m calling your father. Rolando come see what Rolandito did.”

I heard some foot steps from down the hall and then my dad was in the room looking down at me, trying to figure out what it was my mom was all upset about.

“What happened to your eyebrow?” he asked, more confused than angry.

“He shaved it off,” my mom said before I could answer.

“No I didn’t, it just happened,” I said,  still playing dumb.

“Boy, eyebrows just don’t fall off faces,” my dad said. “Were you playing with my razor?”

“No,” I said on the verge of tears. “It just happened.”

“Rolandito, don’t lie to me again,” my dad said, his face as serious as could be.

I knew I was busted, so I came clean.

“Yeah,” I said as I stared at the floor, ashamed that I was caught in a lie.

“Why in the world would you shave your eyebrow off, Rolandito?” my mom asked, her tone changing from anger to flat out confusion.

I didn’t have an excuse, or at least I don’t remember what the original reason why I decided to shave one of my eyebrows off.

All I remember was that a few minutes after admitting that I had played with my dad’s razor, and cut of an eyebrow in the process, something strange and confusing happened.

Both my parents started laughing, I mean, doubled-over with tears in their eyes, they were laughing so hard.

And looking back I can see why. There was their little boy, their first born, wrapped in a bath towel, sopping wet and scared, with one eyebrow.

They laughed for a long time before they were able to settle down and be serious enough to scold me for my actions.

In the end I was relieved that all I got was a scolding. I guess they figured that walking around with one eyebrow for the week or so it would take for the other one to grow back was punishement enough.

But part of me wonders if they didn’t give me a spanking because they felt sorry for me. I mean, shaving off my own eyebrow? Maybe they felt like it was a sign that I was a little touched, that I had special needs.

You know, one eyebrow short….

Leave a Reply:

Comments subject to approval--if we don't like it, we won't post it.

    • Archives