15 points
The Callouses on Your Hands by A C
February 27th, 2012 7:10 AM
I was never a very accident prone child. I've never broken a bone, and I've only been to a hospital once (infected industrial piercing-so basically my fault). I do have one scar on my leg that has a rather mundane story, but interesting to me.
You can't really see it unless it's the summer. Something about winter when my legs revert back to their natural pale state the scar just blends right in. However, in the summer when my biggest priority is baking in the sun it slowly emerges. Starting around March, by August is a bright white line in the middle of my shin.
When I was a kid my brother and I were homeschooled. In order for us to have some socialization outside of eachother and our pets our parents enrolled us in many different groups. Choir, piano, horses, boating, you name it. My brother hated horses and I was terrified of water, to my parents it seemed only natural to put us in a homeschool group called the "Sea Horses" that way we could both suffer with our phobias. Tuesdays were horseback riding lesson days, my favorite. But Thursdays- those were the dreaded water days.
The car ride to the marina was always filled with my very logical accounts of shipwrecks and tragedies at sea in attempt to make my mother realize how insane she was for allowing her children in such a dangerous situation. The usual response was threats of grounding and her insistence that I be quiet.
One day it finally happened- my ticket out. As I was being forced into a canoe from a dock (which had the propensity to topple at any moment) my foot caught on the side of the dock and I fell onto the waiting rocks below. My leg was promptly sliced open (wide enough that I probably should have had stitches) and I screamed bloody murder. I finally had my evidence! Although it healed I now had my first scar. A scar that I could show my mom every time she tried to force me into a boat. A scar embodying the terror of the ocean.
Plus I felt pretty awesome finally having something to show all of my cousins when they showed off their scars.
You can't really see it unless it's the summer. Something about winter when my legs revert back to their natural pale state the scar just blends right in. However, in the summer when my biggest priority is baking in the sun it slowly emerges. Starting around March, by August is a bright white line in the middle of my shin.
When I was a kid my brother and I were homeschooled. In order for us to have some socialization outside of eachother and our pets our parents enrolled us in many different groups. Choir, piano, horses, boating, you name it. My brother hated horses and I was terrified of water, to my parents it seemed only natural to put us in a homeschool group called the "Sea Horses" that way we could both suffer with our phobias. Tuesdays were horseback riding lesson days, my favorite. But Thursdays- those were the dreaded water days.
The car ride to the marina was always filled with my very logical accounts of shipwrecks and tragedies at sea in attempt to make my mother realize how insane she was for allowing her children in such a dangerous situation. The usual response was threats of grounding and her insistence that I be quiet.
One day it finally happened- my ticket out. As I was being forced into a canoe from a dock (which had the propensity to topple at any moment) my foot caught on the side of the dock and I fell onto the waiting rocks below. My leg was promptly sliced open (wide enough that I probably should have had stitches) and I screamed bloody murder. I finally had my evidence! Although it healed I now had my first scar. A scar that I could show my mom every time she tried to force me into a boat. A scar embodying the terror of the ocean.
Plus I felt pretty awesome finally having something to show all of my cousins when they showed off their scars.