Every Scar Tells a Story

Chicks dig scars. I don't have many scars. Not many chicks dig me. I guess that is ok in my stage of life. I need a few (girls that is...), but not many.

For girls, they will often mark moments by scrap booking. Taking pictures, and phrases, and pressed flowers to show an amazing time that they had at some Cotillion. Boys don't do that. Or at least this boy doesn't do that. In fact I would say that it is rare to see guys marking moments at all. Some are better than others and there is surely a sliding scale. But in a sweeping statement. Dudes don't chronicle like girls. It is interesting that nature has it's way of doing a little scrap booking of it's own in the form of scars. And like I said, I don't have a lot of scars but let me share my top three.

Third Place Scar :: When I was in 5th grade the students had desks that faced each other and sat in groups of 4 or 6, I don't quite recall. Regardless, I was sitting across from a girl that I didn't like much. I am sure my reasons were very superficial, but I was in 5th grade. All you are in 5th grade is a hunk of superficial with husky jeans on (or maybe the husky jeans was just me). Either way we would fight about everything. Including the papers that were tossed into the center of a desks to be distributed. This battle had gone on long enough to the point that we were not just grabbing the papers. We were now creating paper grabbing devices. That is lame, remember this is 5th grade, which is in and of itself...lame. So one of the devices I had made was out of some sort of scotch tape and paper clips. It looked cool and very robotic, but I can't say it worked that well. My adversary, on the other hand, had upgraded to a pair of scissors. Very primitive but it did the job of claiming territory and sending a message. On that fateful day I went in with my dork tool and she went in with her Wolverine Claws . She won. Not only the paper war, but also who can hit bone first. She stabbed me in the hand with the scissors and claimed her rightful territory as paper distributor for ever and always. I got a tetanus shot, no stitches, and a fear to reach for anything ever again.

Second Place Scar :: When I was 16, I got my first job, or at least my first official job. I had delivered newspapers for about three years but I left that glorious position to work at Taco Bell. That’s right, I ran for the border. Never have I worked in a more glamorous establishment. It was quite the experience and I know you are wondering...I do still eat at Taco Bell.  That must say something about the food I was serving. My biggest complaint would be about the people I worked with. They spent a considerable amount of their free time bowling, smoking, drinking, and talking about the next time they could smoke and bowl and drink. I have no issue with any of these activities but when it becomes your life and hobby then there is a problem. Very quickly it was discovered that I had above an 8th grade education and that sealed my fate as to where I was going to work. I couldn’t work the fryer; you had to be 18 to do that. The one thing I could do that seemed to stump everyone else was math, and not just math but math in my head. At that time, that was how you worked the cash registers. All change and math was done in your head. They didn’t discover this hidden talent of mine until that magical day when I was cutting tomatoes. The tools we had weren’t the best, highest quality, or the sharpest. Well, they weren’t sharp enough to cut a tomato, but it was sharp enough to cut my finger to the bone. Which I did, showed my manager, and since I had only been working 1 hour that day, they legally had to pay me for 2 hours. They wouldn’t send me to the hospital until after I had put in my time, so they wrapped up the finger in a towel and duct tape and put me on drive-thru…cause it would have been unsafe to have a bloody finger in the produce. By the end of my shift they realized I should have gone to the hospital and that I could count in my head. I got no stitches, a bloody towel, and the respect of my bowling, smoking, drinking buddies.

First Place Scar :: You know the story. I tore my ACL. Read the earlier blogs. I shall not rehash that old sob story. This one is different however. I am older and have a different point of view. The other thing that is different is what I got. I got stitches (finally!), I get to watch my wife praise God and persevere under enormous pressure, and I got to see how amazing my family and friends are to do everything and I mean EVERYTHING for us. Cook meals, take kids, carry chairs, you name it. I will never forget that.

That is better than a scrapbook.