My mother’s best advice: learn to raise one eyebrow at the world

When I was about 10, my mother mentioned the advantage of being able to raise one eyebrow. She called it an actor’s trick, useful for conveying inner thoughts. We spent a couple of minutes trying to lift one brow without the other following; neither of us could manage it.

It was harder than Mr Spock made it look, and felt more like a genetic predisposition than a learned skill, like rolling your tongue. I took the idea seriously and spent hours practising in the mirror. Isolating the muscles that hoist a single brow proved immensely frustrating.

Had I been more outgoing I might have found other ways to pass the time, but I wasn’t, and I kept at it until I could raise either eyebrow at will. By then I was embarrassed by how much work I’d put in, so I kept the triumph to myself. In my freshman year in college I was pressed into a theatrical sketch as a silent spy: a dinner jacket, sunglasses, a martini glass and no lines.

eyebrow, actor trick, mr spock, mirror practice, facial muscles, genetic predisposition, rolling tongue, theatrical sketch, silent spy, college freshman