The website Learningtoloveyoumore.com invites its readers to carry out assignments. I have borrowed some that I feel will help you fulfill your destiny in the coming week. Do as many as you feel moved to do. 1. Photograph one of your scars and write about its origins. 2. Write down your most recent argument. 3. Draw a scene from a movie that made you cry. 4. Ask someone you love to describe what you do. 5. Take a picture of the sun. 6. Record your own guided meditation. 7. Hang a wind chime on a tree in a parking lot. 8. Write your life story in less than a day.Of these, I like the first the best. I don't have a camera handy to photograph them, but I have a few small scars and rather like them. (None of the descriptions is particularly gorey, but I know some folks are squicked by any of this kind of discussion. So I cut because I care.)
The first I got while very young. My brother and I were playing "ghost." This game involves putting a sheet over your head and running around the house. As I'm sure the parents among you will realize, this lead to me tripping and hitting my head on something. In this case, it was the recliner in the living room which had, unbeknownst to my parents, a spring or other piece of metal sticking out of one corner, causing a nasty cut on my forehead that lead to a nice little scar up under my bangs. Now that I wear my hair combed back it should be out in the open but I think that it has faded over the 30 or so years since I got it.
The next scar is on my right forearm, just a little bit down from the inside joint of my elbow. This scar I got because my brother stabbed me with a screwdriver. Well, it was one of those screwdrivers that is about the size of a ball point pen; they are often given away as little souviniers by sales folks. I no longer remember why or how he stabbed me with the screwdriver or enough of the situation surrounding it to know if my memory is even correct. What I do know is that over the next few weeks, I kept picking the scab off the sore; I think in some vain attempt to make my brother feel guilty. All that resulted, however, was a nifty little scar.
The next scar is on my right index finger. It is a little crescent-shaped scar on the side of my finger nearest my thumb and directly on the middle joint of the finger. When I was in high school, I helped my dad install satellite TV systems as a part-time job. You have to realize that these were not the digital satellite systems of today with their tiny little dishes. These were big metal dishes, mounted on heavy steel posts, built to withstand the wind catching the big scoop. So we were hefting one of the dishes up into its mounting bracket on the steel post and my finger got caught between pieces that it shouldn't have. I felt a pinch and pushed back at the dish, freeing my finger. When I looked, a small flap of skin had come loose. I applied pressure to staunch the bleeding and when I looked later, I could pull the flap back and see the joint working. No damage to the workings, thankfully.
I was not so lucky with the scars on my left pinky finger. these are from the surgery I had to help heal the fracture of said finger from a volleyball injury. I jammed the finger and the second bone (counting from the tip) shattered at the end at which it contacts the the third bone. In order to stabilize the joint, surgeons went in and put pins through second and third bones horizontally. The in-most of these was longest and extended past my fingertip. The one through the broken bone was attached to it on either side by rubber bands, thus providing tension to keep the joint from fusing as the bone healed. After a short time, I had physical therapy to work on improving the range of motion in the joint. Today, i can bend the middle joint of that finger to 90 degrees, but no more. (By way of comparison, the finger on my other hand bends to about 135 degrees.) The surgery left me with an incision scar along the inside of my little finger.