Not long ago but when I was 1 year old, I could walk – like any other 1 y/o – but I was struggling to get past the main entrance of my house because it was big enough for my tiny feet to sprint.
I took my own time and finally got past the gateway without being noticed by Amma. I started jumping and moved around swiflty with joy but it lasted only for few seconds before I tripped and fell right on neighbour’s flower pots that were next to their entrance.
My forehead was bleeding but Amma started weeping while rushing me to the hospital. The doctor said it wasn’t a big wound, but I got 6 STITCHES on my forehead. We returned home and everything was fine – atleast, Amma thought so.
The following day, I was moving here and there because hey! I can now RUN and had to immediately put it to use. Rest is an alienated concept to kids. Consequently, I tripped and fell on the same flower pots (again) and the stitches tore.
My parents rushed me to the hospital. Surprisingly but Amma did not cry this time. * Looks like it took her just one incident to understand my behaviour. * The doctor was surprised to see us again and said that it cannot be re-stitched because the skin is too fragile at that point of time. He prescribed medicines for the wound to heal – which I now think should have been done previously to avoid stitches in the first place.
This is the behind-the-scenes of my first scar. I love scars. I mean, I could pen this story because of that incident. They are memories and give us something to talk about our childhood.
If only we had the ability to see the scars a person has mentally, we would have behaved more humane, more kinder, more gentler and the world would have been a better place to live instead of mere survival. Fortunately (or unfortunately), only physical scars are visible – representing that a person had some history to become the person they are today.
What is the story behind your first scar?
~ Adios!
Mischief Managed 
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