Friday. Watched the Arcade Fire’s live show from MSG on the big TV; the YouTube stream was surprisingly solid and high-definition. Was great. We should try and see them again when they come around for the new record…
I’ve written before about the plague the Lord placed on my face during my junior-high years. Perhaps I was being punished for all the evil things I was doing. With all my evil friends and all our evil urges and our evil homemade napalm and stolen cartons of smokes. Whatever the reason for the curse, my previous entry recalls the way those pimples sunk my self confidence. Sharaun, too, suffered from a particularly nasty attack of the pimples – although her time came much later in life. Between the two of us then, we’re like an acne survivors support group. We should be able to at least provide some empathy to our kids when their time comes.
I write all this because I was reminded of it by little baby Cohen’s “infant acne.” Our poor little man has a pretty ugly case. Keaton had baby acne too, but I don’t recall it being as pronounced as Cohen’s is. Maybe that’s because his little-man body is simply bursting with awesome hormones (because his dad is so manly and strong). I’ve taken to calling him “baby pizza face,” out of love, of course – and Keaton has even picked it up. BPF, for short. Oh nevermind you who say I’m mean… it’s a nickname and it helps me acknowledge to people who may see him and think, “Dear God, what’s wrong with that baby’s face,” that yes: my little kid has zits.
Don’t worry Cohen; don’t let the world get you down… that acne’s gonna clear up and you’ll have perfect newborn skin again until you’re twelve or thirteen. Then, just when every flaw is under 100 social microscopes, it’ll come back to test your mettle. And if it couldn’t best you when you were three weeks old, just think how much easier you’ll fare with twelve more years under your belt to thicken your skin.
That’s my boy; baby pizza face.