Day 23: You may have noticed

I have a little something on my chin.

If you haven't yet been introduced, meet my scar. Its been with me for twelve years.

          I remember it as vividly as if it had happened yesterday. It was July, sometime in the late afternoon. When I was nine years old, a friend and I were taking turns riding my bicycle down a steep gravel hill at the cemetery near my house. Those were the days when I wasn't really afraid of anything... mostly because I didn't think of all possible consequences. One of us would go down the hill, disappear from view when the road curved at the bottom, and pedal back up on the parallel street to give the other a turn. After each of us had gone a few times, I decided to pedal as fast as I possibly could. The trees on either side of me were whizzing past, barely recognizable. I saw a pothole approaching and did my best to swerve around it, but inadvertently found myself making contact with a large branch next to it. It all happened so fast: I flew over the handlebars with my arms in front of me in some feeble attempt to brace the fall. In less than a second I skidded front-first for a few feet on the loose gravel. I remember just laying there on my stomach in silence for a moment, taking in what just happened. Then, it hit me. The pain was excruciating; my chin was throbbing, and my chest and knees felt like someone had rubbed them with sandpaper. I started screaming, louder than I can ever remember. Apparently, a neighbor that was my sister's age heard, because all of a sudden he was there, and he scooped me up and started running with me in his arms to my house. I remember looking down and seeing blood making round splotches on the sidewalk below us, but I couldn't really tell where it was coming from.  

          After what seemed like a never-ending drive to the hospital, my dad fainting in the emergency room at the sight of me, and the nurses commenting on my multi-colored fingernails, I was released from the hospital sometime after midnight. The impact of my fall, paired with landing on my chin, had caused a hairline fracture in my jaw and my back molars to chip out. For the first time, I reached and touched my chin and felt the stitches, all seven of them. In addition, my chest and collarbones were covered in deep scratches, as well as my knees. If I remember correctly, the shirt I was wearing that day had holes in it from the abrasion of skidding. In the early recovery days, I remember being very embarrassed at my appearance; I felt like everyone was looking at me in all of the places I didn't want to be noticed. For years after that, my scar would fade a bit every so often but never permanently. Sometimes people would notice it right upon meeting me. Others would bring it up after years of knowing me; What happened to your chin? Everyone has something similar to say about it, such as: It makes you, You or, It gives your face character.  Which, personally, I find that particular comment to only be appropriate when complimenting a grown man. No offense. 

          I guess I really don't notice it anymore. I don't mind having it, for that reason. It obviously makes me feel self-conscious when I can tell that someone notices it for the first time, but then again, I think most of us get uncomfortable when the person we are talking to is looking at something on our face (other than our eyes) in general. I know for a fact that my bike accident has greatly influenced how cautious and hesitant I am today. None of my scars have vanished, including the ones on my knees and collarbones, and I have since accrued many more from various activities. I might just be accident prone; my moped slipped out from under me in the rain a few summers ago while turning a corner. Incidentally, my dad sold it last week. Probably for the best...  

+Marked for life.