My brother and I often debated whether dad would shave his moustache off or not, just so once we could see if his sophistication remained intact without it. A direct request—when we were younger—had failed too easily, so this time around, for Father’s Day, we gave him a gold-plated razor (fully functional but, unfortunately for us, a novelty never meant to be used), encased in a lined wooden box with an engraving on the top: THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES. He returned a gracious laugh. “Do you think anyone insinuated as politely to Proust to shave? Or Nietzsche?” Not to Nietzsche, I thought—his vortex of facial hair was never a moustache proper. Proust, on the other hand? First-class work. His always appears impeccably groomed in photos. He would’ve been devastated had a friend handed him a razor in mocking adoration, I’m certain. My brother probably had misgivings along this line since later he suggested the gift was a total bust. I insisted the gag was appreciated; then the more I imagined dad’s clean-shaven face, the more thankful I was never knowing exactly how many of his mother’s kisses died underneath that furry umbrella.

Summer 2005 Issue

Spring 2005 Issue

Autumn/Winter 2005 Issue

Summer 2004 Issue

Winter 2004 Issue

Summer 2003 Issue

Editor's Note


SNR's Writers


Forrest Roth received his BA in English from the University of Alaska-Fairbanks and is a graduate of the Goddard College MFA program. His short stories appear or are forthcoming in elimae, NOON, Paragraph, and Snow Monkey. He currently lives and teaches in Buffalo, NY.

Copyright 2005, Forrest Roth. This work is protected under the U.S. copyright laws. It may not be reproduced, reprinted, reused, or altered without the expressed written permission of the author.