Scars
Scars are not just damaged tissue on the human body. Every scar, every jagged imperfection of the skin, whether it be smooth or rough, faded or fresh, visible or deep inside...they are all part of the story that is life.
When my brothers were young, before I was even born, they nearly killed each other. Mike, the oldest, saw that my mother was home from the grocery store, and ran out into the yard to meet her. Chris (who's 2 years younger), ran out to do the same, but assumed the front door was still open, and decided to push on the glass with his hands to open it. Well the door had latched, and Chris went right through the glass, cutting his wrist and his neck in the process.
My father, a firefighter and EMT at the time, was cleaning the fish tank.
(Note: How come all of the pets we ever had were BEFORE my time???)
Dad rushed over to help Chris while my mother just screamed. Dad screamed back at her to call 911. He applied pressure to my brother's neck and wrist, praying the cuts had missed the important, praying that he'd be okay.
Mike had run to the neighbors house, terrified. I'd do the same if I was 4 years old.
Dad couldn't take Chris to the hospital, because there was no way he could drive and apply pressure at the same time. Half of Easton's firefighters showed up in our front yard...the call was for one of their own.
Chris had to have stitches in both his wrist and his neck. The doctor told my parents that if the cut to the neck had been 1/4 of an inch deeper, it would have hit his jugular, and he would've died.
22 years later, the scar on his wrist has faded, but the ugly one streaked across his neck remains. No hair will grow there, and his beard looks funny with it. A lot of people like to ask what happened, but he just shrugs and says, "Childhood battle scar is all."
The scar on the back of my left hand is from pulling the turkey out of the oven on Thanksgiving. The one on my right wrist is from when they cut the cast off of my arm in 7th grade. The one on my left knee was the beach, and the one on my right knee was trying to ride a bike on a gravel road.
And the one on my heart? Mom cut that one deep when she left in 2007, and before it could heal, my grandfather died a month later. Then my two best friends, Jimmy and Dwayne, both passed away, leaving me jaded and full of pain.
Everyone leaves. They either move away or die.
And I need time to heal these scars.
When my brothers were young, before I was even born, they nearly killed each other. Mike, the oldest, saw that my mother was home from the grocery store, and ran out into the yard to meet her. Chris (who's 2 years younger), ran out to do the same, but assumed the front door was still open, and decided to push on the glass with his hands to open it. Well the door had latched, and Chris went right through the glass, cutting his wrist and his neck in the process.
My father, a firefighter and EMT at the time, was cleaning the fish tank.
(Note: How come all of the pets we ever had were BEFORE my time???)
Dad rushed over to help Chris while my mother just screamed. Dad screamed back at her to call 911. He applied pressure to my brother's neck and wrist, praying the cuts had missed the important, praying that he'd be okay.
Mike had run to the neighbors house, terrified. I'd do the same if I was 4 years old.
Dad couldn't take Chris to the hospital, because there was no way he could drive and apply pressure at the same time. Half of Easton's firefighters showed up in our front yard...the call was for one of their own.
Chris had to have stitches in both his wrist and his neck. The doctor told my parents that if the cut to the neck had been 1/4 of an inch deeper, it would have hit his jugular, and he would've died.
22 years later, the scar on his wrist has faded, but the ugly one streaked across his neck remains. No hair will grow there, and his beard looks funny with it. A lot of people like to ask what happened, but he just shrugs and says, "Childhood battle scar is all."
The scar on the back of my left hand is from pulling the turkey out of the oven on Thanksgiving. The one on my right wrist is from when they cut the cast off of my arm in 7th grade. The one on my left knee was the beach, and the one on my right knee was trying to ride a bike on a gravel road.
And the one on my heart? Mom cut that one deep when she left in 2007, and before it could heal, my grandfather died a month later. Then my two best friends, Jimmy and Dwayne, both passed away, leaving me jaded and full of pain.
Everyone leaves. They either move away or die.
And I need time to heal these scars.