Axing Nostalgic

Long ago and not so far away my son, now twenty-one, was a teenage boy.

Though he was possessed of a large vocabulary, it was only decipherable through variations in grunts -- the slight deviations in tone quality, resonance, and duration that, as a mother, I learned to recognize. He showered often but never looked particularly scrubbed, and he trudged through his days as if the weight of the world rested on his yet to be broadened shoulders. His school notebooks -- to the extent they could be located -- looked as scattered as he often did, the frayed edges of pages torn from metal spirals poking out haphazardly as if they were trying desperately to free themselves from the tyranny of neatness and organization. Like his thoughts.

One day, there was a slight sea change. When he emerged from his shower, he did so in a cloud of, well, for lack of a better word, fragrance. He had discovered Axe, the men's hygiene product available as body wash, shampoo, after shave and lord knows what else. No matter what form it took, it was anything but subtle, not something you would expect from a kid who wanted to skulk through life unnoticed. It was like extra strength Febreze for living things, not much different from the stuff I used to spray in his hockey bag (or mine -- another story) so that when I unzipped it I wouldn't suffocate.

With the introduction of Axe in our home, I was at least able to keep track of my son's comings and goings, but otherwise it was just another thing for him to hide behind, as opaque as his unruly mop of hair and his stubborn silence. I get it, and, apparently, so do the folks who invented the stuff. New on the shelves this week: Axe: Anarchy for Her. It's our turn ladies, time to conceal the chaos within. Time to let everyone know we're there, but not necessarily what's there. Like old-fashioned French whores, we might even be able to skip a bath or two.


My son is still a mystery to me, even though he now uses far less aggressive soap products and even though he gets an occasional hair cut. Still, there is a certain appeal to hiding behind a veil of perfume, or hair, or a slouch so deep you can virtually disappear. It's nice to know there's a way you can keep your anarchy all to yourself.