The one that I remember as being my first is on my right thumb. I actually have 2, but this one is pretty significant. I got it when I was trying to open a can of lemonade with a can opener. That doesn't sound dangerous, but I was probably 11 at the time and the can wasn't meant for a can opener (it had an easy-open lid) so the opener slipped and nearly took off my thumb. Good times. I think my mom was 3 houses down playing Bunco at the time, and I remember they told me to lift my hand up. Obviously, for the blood, but I thought it was so God could take care of it. I also swore that it just needed a band-aid at the time. They must have had a temporary guy working there though, because the stitching was less than perfect. It doesn't look horrific, but it could have been better.
The one just to the left of that is from a tuna can. You would think I'd have learned my lesson, but in university I was on the phone and talking to my friend about how dangerous opening this can of tuna was with a boyscout can opener. "The old kind, that require you to literally rip the metal off of the top." As I said that, the can lid caught me and I got a pretty deep gash. It wasn't horrific, and I didn't even think about a hospital, but the scar's there if you look.
The third, though second chronologically, is a relatively huge line on my right arm. In high school, I had it in my head that I was going to join the football team. I was the quintessential geek in middle school: fat, acne, poor posture and footing, an unnatural and inhuman love for all things sci-fi and similarly embarrassing things. I eventually came to the conclusion that things didn't work out the way the Disney Channel told me they did. The nerd didn't win the class election (I ran for Vice President), people don't regret how they treat you, and similarly heartbreaking situations. One day I turned on MTV and noticed that it was a little different from all that.
So I had joined football. I had no idea what I was doing, I had never seen a game before, and went for the linebacker position of all things. I did surprisingly well for such a novice, mostly because I could run fast enough and had little apprehension for throwing myself at things. I still don't, for the most part.
In the end though, there was a guy that was just too big for me. I ran as hard as I could, I knew he was getting the ball, and just jumped at him. We collided, he didn't budge, my foot hit the ground and I slammed him forward. I got him down, but not before his helmet took out my right arm. I ended up with a compound fracture, and a lot of surprised looking nurses. Surprised because I shouldn't have had feeling in my right arm based on the break (the radius has a pretty significant nerve running through it). So I wore a giant cast for a while and failed an English test (I tried writing with my left hand) the next day.
The last, maybe temporary, scar I have on a knuckle. I got in Tokyo over New Year's. I don't know how.
I was a bit depressed about all these physical disformities for a while. I'd see them and feel bad, as you do, but eventually I started seeing myself as someone who's just prone to injury. Haphazard and reckless, good with the bad and all that.
In Japan alone, I've fractured my right arm (for the third time) by falling down some wet stairs, broken a left rib by slamming into a railing, and been hit by a car (just scratches on that one, albeit deep). It happens. I'm resigned to my history and my fate as the descendent of a brutish, gung ho people of northern Europe who worshipped the ursine and threw themselves at things.
Although, I do walk slower when it rains.
