Tom Jones Had One

"First day in August, the last rain was in May
When the Rainmaker came to Kansas is the middle of a dusty day
Said the Rainmaker to the people, tell me what you are prepared to pay
Said the Rainmaker to the people, now I'll conjure up some rain today.
Ninety degrees ‘neath the trees where it's shady
Hundred and ten in the hot sun
Heat from the street burns the feet of the ladies
See how they run
Call down the lightning by a mystical name
And the Rainmaker called on the thunder and it suddenly began to rain
And the Rainmaker passed his hat to the people, but the people all turned away
And the Rainmaker's eyes and the Kansas skies, well they both became a darker gray.
First day of August, the last rain was in May
When the Rainmaker came to Kansas in the middle of a dusty day
The Rainmaker smiled as he hitched up his wagon and without a word he rode away
And the people of the town heard the sound of his laughter
And they knew the rain had come to stay
Rain, rain go away, come again another day.” ~ Harry Nilsson

I am a rainmaker.

I guarantee you I can make it rain. All I have to do is wash my car. Really. I know it’s an old saying that if you wash your car, it will always rain by the next day. It is one of Murphy’s laws. But with me, it’s really true.

Tuesday, while making the rounds, I happened to notice my car had a layer of road dust all over it, so I decided to wash it off. I went to a gas station that I often go to for the car wash, which does an outstanding job considering it is one of those touchless automatic washes. I paid my $7.00 and punched the code in, the garage door opened, and I entered the car wash, the door closing behind my car.

The car wash lasted maybe as long as 5 minutes and when it was done, the garage door at the exit opened, and the air blasters came on to dry my car. As I exited the wash under the dryers, I noticed, to my consternation, that the dryers had failed to remove the droplets of water beading up on my windshield. I turned on the wipers which cleared the windshield. For about 1 second. It was then that I discovered, to my wonderment, that it was raining. Not just raining. I was caught in a deluge of Biblical proportions. I entered, with a dirty car, in dry weather, and came out, 5 minutes later, with a clean car, but also, in a downpour.


I challenge any rainmaker anywhere to match that achievement.

So, I’m driving down the road Wednesday morning, almost unaware that I am furtively picking at a small, slightly painful bump on my nose.

(Silly readers. Segues are for kids!)

I raise my head and turn it slightly towards the rear view mirror to ascertain the source of the irritation and see, to my horror, A rather prodigious snow capped mountain growing on the side of my nose!

A pimple? At my age?

You know, when we are kids, we want to grow older for the increased freedom we hope to enjoy as teens. We don’t count on pimples.

As a teenager, we look forward to getting old enough that we no longer get pimples.

Apparently, it is not possible to attain that age.

Pimples were always a source of much embarrassment and low self esteem for me when I was a teenager. I didn’t get them as bad as many of my peers. Some of my friends got them so bad that they still have pock marked faces today.

That, in and of itself, is not a hindrance. Many people have gone on to live successful lives in spite of hideous acne scars. Comedian Bill Murray and actor Edward James Olmos come to mind.

I have no acne scars on my face. Only one scar from a divot taken out of my face, right next to my right eye, that I suffered in combat on the playground of Paul B. Cooper Elementary School in Wichita, Kansas. My noble foe, a rather treacherous slide, which, I swear to this day, literally pitched me off in mid slide, depositing me unceremoniously, and face first, onto the graveled surface below.

But I digress. (there he goes, digressing again)

When I was a pimply faced adolescent, I feared the scorn and disapproval of the lovely, unblemished young ladies in my peer group, because of my epidermically challenged condition.

Then, one evening, while watching the Tom Jones Show on TV, I saw a vision. A vision that forever changed my self concept. On the screen I beheld before me, the image of the great Tom Jones himself, seated upon a stool, a spotlight illuminating only his head and shoulders, head bent forward, with eyes closed, softly crooning a love ballad to the adoring ladies in his studio audience. The camera zoomed in for a close up of Tom’s face. And there, for all the world to see, in stark black and white, unsuccessfully covered with television make-up, was a very perceptible bump on his cheek.

Tom Jones had a pimple!

If Tom Jones could get pimples, somehow that gave me hope.

So today, without giving it more than a passing thought, I popped my pimple, and went on with my life.

So, for all you younger readers, let not your heart be troubled. Be of good cheer. For, even though there is no hope of overcoming the plague of blackheads in your lifetime, as you had hoped, I am living proof that life can still be rewarding and meaningful in spite of the embarrassment of skin blemishes.

Who knows? You may become a famous rainmaker!