We new fathers know our brethren when we see them. At least, we know what distinguishing characteristics to look for.

Case in point: my reunion in Las Vegas with an old friend last weekend. His wife recently delivered their second baby, and I hadn’t seen him since the little girl was born. Naturally, then, our get-together was full of “How’s the baby” queries and hugs all around.

Then I spotted a tiny scratch mark on his cheek. And I knew exactly what it was.

“That from the baby?” I asked him as I pointed to the blemish, knowing full well what his response would be.

“It is!” he quipped. “She’s cute but she has some pretty major fingernails.”

Boy, can I relate. Though I didn’t happen to have any similar nicks last weekend, I’ve had plenty of them, and all of mine came from L’s wolverine-like nails, too. The blemishes are like badges of honor for us new dads, “colors” that shout to the world we are all part of a secret society of men who let their babies scratch because we love them.

As I type this, I’ve got a big fresh mark on my face below my right eyeball. Did I apply Neosporin when the baby sliced me? Absolutely (we are big fans of that product in this house). But will you catch me wearing a bandage over the cut at any point in the next few days? No way, folks, not on your lives.