On a warm summer evening when I was eight years old, I sat on my neighbor's back deck waiting for her to come outside and play with me. Her cat stepped onto my lap and settled there. But then a bird chirped or a squirrel darted in front of us. Whatever it was startled the cat and she scrambled, leaving a scratch on my left arm. The tiny line is still there.
In sixth grade, I swiped one of my mother's pink disposable razors and shaved my legs. Without shaving cream and with a shaky hand, I scraped off a nice chunk of skin on my left calf. Today, the horizontal scar is a shade lighter than the rest of my skin.
In seventh grade woodshop, a miter saw dropped on my right ring finger. The teacher made me feel like a baby when I asked to go to the nurse. The teeth marks still there today are proof that he was a jerk.
Do you have any scars? What stories are behind them?
3 years ago