K, I have some stubble on my face and you want me to please cut it.

It started in Corpus.

We had finished swimming and I bent down to kiss you while we were laughing and playing.

When I did you gave me an ugly look, reached up, swiped the palm of your hand across my cheek, and said:

Cut it.

I thought you were teasing me, but you said it again.

Admittedly, I had forgotten both my razor and trimmer and was more prickly than usual.

But you have repeated this two to three times a day since we have been back home.

And I have trimmed it!

It’s like you are demanding I shave it down to a smooth babyface.

I love you.

-Dad