First I just want to say, "wow I took some time off from blogging." Life sometimes moves so fast that certain things fall to the side and unfortunately my blog was one of them. I hope to keep up with it on a regular basis now.
Scars, many of us have them, some from childhood, some from our adult lives. My C-section scar is my newest addition to my adult ones, but this scar does not make me cringe, it actually makes me smile because I have a beautiful daughter to show for it. Now the one on my left pointer finger is where I stabbed myself with the chopper blade of my food processor and wow that one hurt. It has taught me to be more aware of those sharp blades when cleaning it! Yet I also have a few scars from child hood. A long but light scar on my right forearm where I was playing with our childhood cat Whispers and got her so worked up that she unleashed the fury on me, a deserved scar that taught me to only go so far when playing with a cat!
Yet the scars I have the evoke the most memory are the two tiny crescent moon scars I have, less then half an inch, with one on my right wrist and the other on my left upper arm, both so tiny that they would go unnoticed if I did not point them out. These where given to me around the age of 7 or 8 by another little girl who was so proud of her beautiful long nails. I remember that if I did not go and play what she wanted to play that I would just get scratched, then as time progressed and she must have noticed that I would not say anything, so she started to use them on me in a more pointed way. The first scar came from when she grabbed my wrist to go over to the play ground, but I did not want to go so she became so mad that she just dug in with her thumb nail and I started to bleed. Not wanting to tell on a friend I never said a word to my parents and life went on as normal. It was not too long afterwards that the same thing happened again, this time she grabbed my upper arm, and with a no from me came pain and bleeding as she proceeded to again dig her nail into my soft flesh yet again. My mom saw the bleeding right away and off to the girls house we went, showing her mom my battle scars from those pretty nails. Her mom was mad and took care of the problem by trimming the little girl's nails down. Till this day I remember that little girl being mad at me cause her mom cut off all her pretty nails and I think she never played with me again.
I feel a sadness when I look at these scars, not from what they did to me, but for that little girl who would get so mad that she felt the only way to express that anger was by inflicting pain on another. I just hope that I can teach my children, by showing them the scars, that it is never okay to hurt someone out of anger or frustration. I am sure the scars you can't see, the ones we all carry inside, impact our lives on a much deeper level then the superficial scars we carry on the outside, yet I can only hope that if I share these scars with my children that maybe, just maybe, my kids will be all the better for it.