I think my daughter, Hannah, is on first name basis with every nurse, aide and doctor in several Emergency Rooms between Wisconsin and Virginia. Between gymnastics, soccer and swimming she’s had concussions, breaks, sprains and one damaged rotator cuff. I’ve always wondered, if not marveled at Hannah’s ability to get hurt in swimming. Exactly how does one do that short of drowning or perhaps ramming one’s head into a wall (which she actually did when she was younger)?
One particular break, a wrist, was placed for a time in a hard cast. No swimming. No soccer. No much of anything. When it came time to have the cast removed, the nurse took the saw and started cutting. Hannah started to cry silently, saying that “it hurt.” Hmmm . . . That wasn’t supposed to happen. Come to find out that the blade on the saw actually cut deeply into Hannah’s forearm, leaving a scar that is present and visible today. It is raised and turns a pretty pale pink, almost purple, in the summer sun.
In my senior year of high school, I had just gotten out of a dress rehearsal for a music show. The final performance was that evening. I had three solos to perform and I was in several group ensembles as well. I was eating dinner and someone playfully threw something at me and I ducked. When I did, I hit my chin on the corner of the table and split my chin open. It hurt, but not terribly so. And then there was blood. My chin was swollen and I had to wear a clumsy bandage on it. Perhaps I should have gotten stitches. To this day, I have a scar on my chin. Not very noticeable, but I see and feel it each time I shave.
We All Have Scars.
Some scars are big, some are small. Some scars are noticeable, some not so much. Some scars are visible to the eye, some hidden beneath clothing. Some scars are a sort of “trophy” from this game or that contest. Some scars are a result of just everyday living, and some scars are an accident in childhood or adulthood.
We All Have Scars.
And . . . each of us has scars that are not visible to the eye, scars not visible anywhere on our body by anyone, maybe not even to ourselves.
These scars are the emotional scars we carry with us.
We might have been born into and spent childhood raised in a less than loving, supportive, or nurturing home. A childhood where going without was the norm rather than an anomaly. A childhood where hearing the words “my dumb one” “he’s not so bright” “she’s not very pretty” “he’s not very handsome” “she’s a difficult child” were (are?) as common as “hello” “goodnight” “see you later” might have been. The words “I love you!” might never have been uttered or heard.
Or . . . a childhood where we were ignored or treated as indifferently as a chair or the living room curtains might have been (is?). Taken for granted. Assumed. An afterthought. Nothing special, just there.
We All Have Scars.
We might have been the product of meanness, neglect, or unfortunately, abuse. We might have wondered (and perhaps still wonder?) where the next meal will come from and what it might be, if the electricity or heat will remain on, when the next fist might be felt, the next curse might be heard. Who might be there for me . . . for us . . . when it seems no one is there now and perhaps, never was in the first place.
Yes, We All Have Scars.
The question I have for you . . . for each of us . . . is, are we, have we, learned from the acquisition of the scar? What are you, we, doing now that is different and is a result of what we have learned? Are you, we, continuing on with the cycle or are we going about life . . . our life, other’s lives . . . differently? What have we learned from our scars? Just what have we learned? Something to think about . . .
Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!
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Thank you for your comment. I welcome your thought. Joe