Wednesday, April 29, 2009

The stories of my scars.


Do, do, do, la, la, la, la, do, do. As the world has spun on its slant axis, many odd objects have found themselves in violent encounter with my largest organ, these are The Stories of My Scars.


There used to be a driving range so near our house that we had golf balls in plenty.  I knew that golf clubs were to be used on grass and not for hitting rocks. Although we had one club that was designated the ignoble fate of a toy to my siblings and me.

As a child I had little awareness of the proper usage of things. I wanted to hit rocks with a baseball bat, not being concerned if it was dented. I wanted to crush rocks with a hammer. I didn’t have very much discrimination about which hammer I used. But I knew to only use the special club on the dirt. As an odd unrelated fact, I even knew that the special club was a wedge. 

One day as my sister, younger brother and I were talking turns hitting some balls in the front yard. I wanted to be on my sisters other side. I was standing behind her. I wanted to stand in front of her. I was impatient. The other side seemed so great. Did I mention that I wanted to be on the other side of my sister? I remember thinking that I should wait, that I shouldn’t move near my sister because she was about to swing. 

That day was the day that I most resembled a deer. I really resembled any earth bound creature that might find itself caught with the decision to go ahead or go back.  I was the deer that kept running right into on coming traffic. 

The golf club sent me running inside to my mom after it took a divot out of my left cheek. I sat on the kitchen counter asking my mom if I could see what it looked like. My sister was crying, I think, saying, “I’m sorry”. My poor sister. I wasn’t even crying anymore. She had the worse of it. They were my first stitches. I think that my mom saved them when they were removed. 

I didn’t realize at the time that, I should be safe not only for my own sake, but also for the sake of the person who might accidentally cleave my cheek in two.


1 comment:

Stac said...

My dad saved a lock of my hair from my first haircut. I think it is stapled to the wall in the polebarn.

I like your way with words.
I like you