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