I woke up on Saturday morning after a rather restful night of sleep. I spent the night at a friend's house after traveling to see his son play in a high school football game the night before and I just crashed in one of his living room recliners. It couldn't have been more comfortable. But as soon as I slipped out of it on Saturday morning, I noticed a pain shooting through my right leg, which is always a concern for me since I ruptured my Achilles tendon in that leg ten years ago and have had all sorts of problems with that leg since, including blood clots.
I pulled off my shoes and socks and saw that the scar where the doctor cut me open to repair my Achilles tendon was inflamed. I realized that my heels had been hanging off the recliner and that my leg must have rubbed against the foot rest enough to cause it swell a little. No big deal. It went away rather quickly, but that led to think about the many scars I've accumulated over the years. That particular scar marks a time in my life when I focused more on my writing because it was all I could do for several months. Funny how things work out.
And if you look closely, just under my left eye, you'll see a faint scar that serves as a continual reminder of a day I spent wandering around in a field with my dad when I was just a little boy. My grandfather owned some land and my dad and I would go exploring sometimes. One Saturday afternoon, I had a little too much energy and began to run. I imagine I was going just about as fast as my little legs would carry me when I suddenly ran face first into a barbed wire fence. Thankfully, I just had one cut under my left eye. Without that scar, I doubt that I would even remember that particular day with my dad.
Close to my right elbow, you can see a scar that is about the size of a quarter. It happened after work one night when I was in my teens. I used to manage a fast food restaurant and after we closed, a lot of the employees would hang out together. One particular night someone broke out a Frisbee after work and a few of us began tossing it around the parking lot. Someone threw it in my direction and I saw one of the girls I worked with make a move toward it so I did too. We sort of collided and I took a spill, leaving part of my skin on the pavement. Must have been pretty deep because you can still see the aftereffects. But again, without such an instance, I doubt that I would even remember that night.
I don't want to endure the pain that comes with scarring just so I can remember past events, but I'm also not afraid of getting them because they are evidence of a life that has been lived.
