I am growing a neckbeard because I want to be more like my friend Berto. Or an Amish guy. I remember that my father used to have a beard and then one day, out of the blue, he shaved it off. I remember how uneasy I felt about it, even though I was 8 or 9. I remember that I had the urge to cry, but I don't remember why.
I remember my father once read a story I wrote and laughed at a grammar mistake I had made. I remember how badly I felt about the mistake, how I had wanted to cry again, and how I always wondered what he thought of the story. Such small, unimportant things that stick in me so vividly.