Scars For Life

Posted: May 19, 2011 in Life, Relationships
Tags: , ,

I’ve been plugging away today, but I’ve found my mind being preoccupied a lot with trying to figure out what in the world to blog about today. I think I’m suffering from what they call writer’s block (I have no idea who ‘they’ is here…but ‘they’ coined the term writer’s block). I thought I could maybe talk about my family, but with my sister’s recent birthday and my brother’s pending graduation–I feel like they’ve kind of monopolized my blog lately. I thought that I could maybe talk about food–but I realized my stomach was eating itself and thinking about food was making it worse, which seemed counterproductive. I talked about religion yesterday, so I briefly considered broaching the subject of politics until I realized I know even less about that than I do religion. So that left me with sex, drugs, or rock ‘n roll. Wait. No. Although I’ll be honest, I did consider blogging about sex until I realized I didn’t really know what avenue to go down. Pun absolutely intended.

Then I started picking at a scab on my right hand. And no…this has nothing to do with meth use. I burned myself a couple weeks back and it’s absolutely going to scar. So I thought maybe I’d write about scars. It’s KINDA weak I know…but I think I can make it work.

Whether they’re from an accident, or seeing your parents…well…you know, we’ve all got scars. Papa Roach once told us that, “our scars remind us that the past is real.” Ain’t that the truth? I suppose sometimes we’d rather just as soon forget that the past did happen–but there’s no erasing it. Those scars make you who you are, and sometimes some pretty good stories can accompany them. For example…

…Rumor has it that when I was just a little thing, four years old or somewhere thereabouts, my uncle tied up a sled to the back of four wheeler with the intention of pulling me around my grandma’s snow-filled yard. There was even a hill in the back that he was planning on pulling me over. Sounds like a good idea huh? I don’t know if he thought up this grand plan all by himself, or if he asked permission, but what I DO know is that not long after our adventure started it ended. I’d fallen off the sled somehow and had landed on a barbed wire fence by what was my grandpa’s garden in the summer. Being a bad ass, I didn’t cry, I just went into the house and showed grandma the cuts on my legs. Ends up me not crying had nothing to do with me being a bad ass–I was in shock, and still to this day I have two scars on my left shin.

…A few years later I’d somehow ended up with a cyst on my right temple. It was a sebaceous cyst, and when I looked up the definition of sebaceous it talked about a fatty substance, so that’s gross. Anyhow, I don’t know where it came from, or how I got so lucky, but it had to be removed. I don’t remember if they froze it, or just numbed it, but I remember them digging around. Sounds awesome huh? So now if you catch my right temple in just the right light, you’ll see a tiny scar.

…I was a softball player in high school and a pretty damn good one at that, but I couldn’t slide in games. Seriously. We could practice sliding on a tarp with water and I was fine, we could practice sliding into second and I was fine…but you put me in an actual game situation and I buckled under pressure. Typically it didn’t come into play, but one game I remember I tried to stretch a single into a double. I thought I’d hit it further than I had, and I realized I was going to have to slide. At this time, we wore navy shorts that came down to just above our knee, and gold socks that came up to just below our knee. I slid, and still to this day I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to slide into second on my kneecap–the ONLY exposed part of my leg. It turned into this big strawberry thing, and I’ll be damned if there’s not a round scar on my knee from that fateful slide.

I have more scars than that, but those are the ones with the best stories, and obviously, all of those scars I just described are physical scars. Here’s the thing. When I look back on my life, I don’t remember a lot of bad stuff happening. I suppose being dumped, or having a loved one pass away, scars you in some way, shape, or form–but just like the scars we can see they heal and fade away with time. We never COMPLETELY forget about them, but they do get better with time. And so do we. With every scar our bodies, hearts, souls, and minds endure–I think we all get a little bit better, and a little bit wiser. I can assure you that I never got on a sled that was within 100 yards of a barbed wire fence after that fiasco.

Embrace your scars. They’re what comprise you. They make you…YOU. Maybe you don’t like you though…then what? Embrace your scars. If you do that, and can make peace with whatever has scarred you, you may find that you don’t dislike yourself as much as you thought–and when that happens, you embrace yourself. You’ll deserve it.

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Comments
  1. Jean Amosson says:

    I think you’re amazing and that barb wire “incident” still makes me cringe!

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