Learning To Love You More




Assignment #11
Photograph a scar and write about it.

Statesboro, Georgia USA



When I was 6 years old, I saved up all my change in a piggy bank. I think I had collected about six or eight dollars worth of coins and couldn't wait to get to the store to spend it on toys. As a child, I loved to hear my mom say, "Let's go to the store." I grew up in a rural area and that meant any good retail store required at least thirty minutes to reach by car, this made the trip even more adventurous because of the journey it required. On this particular trip to spend my change I was more raring to go than ever. Once my mom said the magic words and we began to head out the door, my heart went into overdrive and my brain went into neutral. As most hyper-active six-year-olds do, I ran every where I went. The one hundred eighty feet from our kitchen to the car was no exception. Flying through the kitchen toward the back door proved to be more of a challenge this day than previous ones however because barely three feet from my intended departure destination, I tripped... fell forward into the corner of the kitchen cabinet, which makes a surprisingly sharp corner, and jammed my skull against the edge of the countertop. I gashed open my eyebrow.
The doctor who sewed me up; because we wound up making a trip to the emergency room instead of Wal-Mart, said had I been an inch lower, I would possibly have lost my right eye. Instead I got an eyebrow with six stitches (which everyone at school gawked over for weeks) and a Snoopy Band-Aid. My money went back into the piggy bank for spending another day and I learned a little bit of a lesson about running in the house...for a time.