"The horror"

Mr. Sun's eleven-year-old "flare" is curious about facial blemishes. Can a father prepare his young son for the miseries of puberty?

I hate to tell him the truth: soon he'll be able to singlehandedly bring down gas prices by pumping crude oil from his face with the standard teenage rigging of two inward-pointing index fingers working madly to extract petroleum at the rate of nine barrels a night.

My battle with zits began and ended during the self-esteem drainage period known as Junior High School. During that time: a) my hair took on a shape and consistencey that earned me the nickname 'Brillo Pad,' b) my nose became in every significant sense a 'snout,' and c) my primary extracurricular activity was 'having allergies.' Not a pretty picture. I spent a lot of time in front of the mirror searching for a look that would allow me to play past what I knew to be a case of Acute Uncoolness -- temporary, but severe. I settled on a little something I liked to call Zen Fonzie -- a brother who is righteous, but seeks it not. Keep in mind that there was no such thing as Zoloft at that time..."