Pimples

It was too late for the pimple-faced fellow to get up early, so he buried his head in his pillow and resorted to his usual practice of sleeping in. He had essentially just wasted three of the most precious months of his young life in the same way. He was lazy, immature, naive and basically oblivious to anything that did not directly affect him. There were only a few weeks remaining until he would attend his first day of high school. The lackluster lad had no reason to suspect that this would be the most influential day he would ever experience.

It all started exactly one year earlier, when the next-door neighbors elected to move away. Their only child, a son, was one year the senior to the pimple-faced boy. The two adolescents and their families lived in the poor part of town, so their resources were meager, but each of the young fellows owned a baseball mitt. Predictably, they filled countless hours, simply playing catch.

The local high-school earned an especially seedy reputation, so the parents of the neighbor boy dreaded the thought of their son attending such a school. The 80-year old building had been neglected for years. Bars on the windows lent the impression that it was a medium-security prison. The question was, were the bars to keep the unruly students in, or to keep the neighborhood bad-guys out.

Everything was run down. The lighting was poor. The halls were narrow and over-crowded. Students from years gone by had carved their initials into desktops. The restroom stalls had no doors on them because even the smallest amount of privacy afforded sanctuary for illegal activities that so often occurred.

Graffiti was commonplace. The janitors could not remove it as fast as the street artists painted colorful insults, directed at their rival gangs (About Gangs). Fighting was common, even among the girls. Occasionally, stories about bloody knife-fights and gang-fights would end up on the nightly news. Every year there were a hand-full of students who just used their school years as a stopping place on their way to jail or the state prison. Dozens of students had probation officers, while hundreds of them smoked and drank (fairly common now).


Teenage pregnancy was routine in the school. A high percentage of students dropped out. Of those who stuck it out, apathy about their school, their homes and their futures was inevitable. The less violent kids took refuge from the environment by laying their heads on their desks and sleeping away the classroom hours. The teachers “gave” passing grades to any students who did not cause trouble.

Anybody with an ounce of common sense would want to escape such a hopeless culture. The parents of the neighbor boy were determined to do precisely that. And so they moved away to a small town, with a small-town mentality and Pimples was left behind.

On the July day in discussion, the phone rang at 9:00 am. It was the older boy. He was coming to town and he wanted to play catch with Pimples. The year was 1964. The Beatles were headed to the US for their very first tour. They had just released their incredibly successful album, “A Hard Days Night” and their songs dominated the airways. “Can't Buy Me Love” was blaring on an old radio when the mother of the pimple-faced fellow announced the now-historic phone call. It was his former neighbor.

“Do you want to play catch?”

He did.

Later that day, the two young teenagers met as agreed. There was a large side-yard next to the younger lad’s home so they grabbed their old mitts and a radio and headed there. As they threw the grass-stained baseball back and forth, John Lennon was singing “I Should Have Known Better” in the background.

The small talk eventually yielded to a discussion about the infamous high-school, which awaited Pimples. Then suddenly, and without any forethought the older youth blurted out a bizarre question that even he did not know he was going to ask, “Would you like to move in with us, and go to high-school in our small town?” Just as impulsively, Pimples instinctively and enthusiastically agreed. More incredibly, and for reasons known only to God himself, the parents also approved of the impromptu plot. And so it was! The pimple-faced youngster packed his bags.

The small town high school was brand new. There was no graffiti, no apathy and no gangs. Instead, there was a strong sense of community and school spirit. The younger fellow made the football team and was shocked when the entire town shut down on Fridays to watch the games. The teachers actually cared about the students and the students genuinely liked and respected the teachers. The young pimple-faced lad liked the girls a lot better too. No doubt, he had made the correct choice.

In the winter of his senior year, the school organized a skiing weekend and Pimples went along. By the afternoon of the first day, he had made several ski runs down the mountain, and he still had time for one more run. He arrived at the chair-lift at the exact same time as one of his classmates. It just made sense to share the next chair. Her name was Patty.

Pimples already knew of Patty, but he had never really taken the time to talk with her until that day. He immediately liked her and over the next few months their relationship grew. Then they got more serious, and eventually they got married and raised their own family.

It has been over 45 years since that ironic question came completely “out of left field” while two young fellows were playing catch. But more significantly, earlier that same morning, the younger fellow, Pimples, received the most important phone call of his life.

“Do you want to play catch?”

He did.

In case you have not figured it out, Patty is my wife and I am Pimples. We will celebrate our 40th anniversary later this year, “And I Love Her” (song five on that poignant album).

The old high school is still struggling.

The small-town school is still doing well.

A 16 year-old modern day gang member tells his story

Comments are invited

We are discussing insurance scams on my other blog.