Scars

When I was five, I got the chicken pox. I got it from a boy down the street that I was best friends with. Our moms had gone to high school together. The first pox I got was on my face, I didn't think much of it; just that I had another bug bite/pimple that itched. As they started to accumlate throughout my body, my mom took notice. Out of school for a week, I itched and tried not to scratch. After a week, the doctor and my mom deemed me ready to go back to school. But neither could have prepared me for the onslaught of questions I would have to deal with regarding that one pox on my face. Right below my eye, no one could miss it. It was like a pit mark, leaving a deep scar that has slowly gotten bettter with age. Now people claim not to see it unless I point it out to them. Probably because I have so many other scars.

A few summers back when I was lifeguarding, I was sitting on a table in the office and this guy saw my knees and was amazed because scars overlapped each other. There are scars from childhood mixed in with falls I've taken during cross country meets (it is a brutal sport), from rugby, from shaving, etc. You name it, I've probably gotten a scar from it.

Put simply, I scar easily. I'm not exactly sure why but that's just how it is. I have a scar on my thigh from my aunt accidentally scratching me with her fingernail from over ten years ago.

It leads me to wonder if I'm the same on the inside as the outside or if I compensate. Something to ponder . . . .