Warts

When I was an adolescent my hands were covered with warts. No exaggeration.
Talk about humiliating. Like teenage acne and gawkiness weren’t bad enough.
I developed them when I was in Junior High. The kids in my class called me “wart-man”… and this was Sunday school.
I did a fair job of hiding my hands as I walked through the halls, but you can’t keep your hands in your pockets while you play the clarinet. I almost quit band because I was so embarrassed. I would have but Dad wouldn’t let me. I’m glad he didn’t.

One day after about 2 year’s of wart pain, Dad saw that I was covering my hands. He told me he too had a serious wart problem when he was a kid. He said:
“I took a ripe apple and cut it in half.
"Then I rubbed the apple all over my hands so the warts were covered with juice from the apple.
"Then I placed the two apple halves in a hiding place, left them there and forgot about them.
"This is a very important part… you have to forget about them.
"Several weeks later, by the time the apples had dried up, the warts were gone.”

I had tried a few other things that didn't work. "Compound-W" and soaking my hands in "Janitor in a Drum" (anyone else remember that stuff?).
I was intrigued by Dad's story. More than that, I was convinced. "It worked for Dad so it will work for me."

It could have been coincidence.
It might have had something to do with the juice from that apple.
It probably had more to do with the faith I had in my Dad.
But it worked… just the way Dad explained it to me.