Today I went back to my former school - one in which I spent two years before Jacob was born and I began my  journey into parenting as a stay-at-home papa. I had not visited this whole entire school year for any number of reasons. The number one reason probably was that I was not going to go back to the school. Instead I was starting fresh in my former former school (yes, I know I wrote that twice). So I guess you could say I was a little bit over being around elementary school teachers.

At any rate, I decided last week that there were a few people who I wanted to visit with Jacob. I sent an email and made my plans to venture in and basically say “goodbye” to those that I valued and valued me. Most people there I had lost touch with - probably because I was a guy in a school with almost 100 percent women, and probably because being a stay-at-home dad is not really the most popular decision a guy makes. Whatever the reasons, I was out of touch and out of time (I can see Hall and Oates getting their lawyers ready as I write that last line - YIKES).

So I made my decision to return to the school that I was not really going to return to in September. See you in whenever….

Of course, two days before I made my trek back, a hard knot started to form in my forehead, above my eye brow with no place to be hidden, as a result. I looked in the mirror to see what was brewing and sure enough it was an enormous, hideous, disgusting ZIT! Oh crap, I thought. Just what I need on my head before I go and see all these people. Thanks. Thanks for nothing.

What I did next, I know I should not have done, but I had to do it. You know how it is. It is not like you are free from guilt here, either. You’ve all played around with the ZIT as it begins to form. You’ve all done a little digging, a little squeezing, and a little pinching. Don’t try to deny it. I did the same thing that all of you have done way before me. I played doctor. I thought I was doing myself a service, but in reality I made things a hell of a lot worse.

I tried to pop it. I tried to squeeze the huge, monster-sized, pea-shaped disaster that had formed above my eye brow with no place to be hidden on my almost clear face. I took both thumbs and I really layed into that s-o-b. It did nothing. It did not move and squirt out anything except a thick, yellowish liquid. My head ached, and the ZIT stared back at me - now red and very pissed off. I could feel its heartbeat in my brain and I began to panic. I took tweezers and an pin and poked it. Nothing changed. Well almost nothing. The ZIT changed. It grew angry and more annoyed at my prodding fingers. It turned purple with a yellow center. I swear it looked like something out of the movie “Something About Mary”. Gross. Yuck. Ack.

I came downstairs from my lab (the bathroom) with a piece of tissue stuck to the wound. Jacob asked me, “What’s that, daddy?” I told him it was a boo-boo and Bridget just shook her head. “Why did you play with it? You knew this would happen.”

She was right. I knew and I did it anyway. I thought this one would be different. This one would yield to my hands and break open as I applied a little pressure. WRONG. No change here - except from bad to worse.

Thank god for a clean shower - spraying hot water on an open sore. Thank god for neosporin. Thank god for two days of not picking at it before entering my former school.

The day finally came and my ZIT was really gone for all intents and purposes. Of course, in its wake, was a scab the size of a dime. At least I had replaced it with something more disgusting.

When will I ever learn? Zit happens and we should leave it at that.

Resist. Multiply. Pop ‘um if you’ve got ‘um - or not. Enjoy this clip: