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Battle Scars

They say wounds heal, but the scars stay. I believe them. Trust me, I'm an accountant.

Kidding aside, sometimes I think that scars are there for a reason. To me, it tells me that I'm not perfect. I'm just human. I make mistakes, stupid choices and sometimes it can't be helped.

Scars remind me of my life. What I've been doing with it. It's more of a lesson that you can see on your skin, but at the same time it tells a story, for every dent is a valuable experience embedded in your car or any vehicle for that matter, like what Mater said.

I have three that I would like to share. From biggest to smallest:

I was around second grade when this happened. It was quite a weird experience because to me it was exceptionally unfair to have come into the hospital unwounded and to come out with a huge cut on your right arm.

You guys know what a front seat of a car looks like, right? So, imagine that car seat under a tree near at my cousin's house with a clothes line right above it connecting the tree to a pole to the house. There were four of us if I'm not mistaken, I was on the headrest area of the car seat, holding on to the clothes line as I stand up, then out of nowhere one of my cousins jumped on the car seat making me lose my balance and fall off from where I was standing, being the unfit kid that I am, I lost my grip on the clothes line and fell with my right elbow breaking my fall.

Of course it hurt, but I didn't see any scars or bruises but it really hurt me bad on the inside so to speak. Now when one of the responsible adults came and asked what happened, well, they tell what happened and it was at that time that I couldn't bend my arm. It's all straight for some weird reason and I can't even move it. But my fingers work just fine. Long story short, the doctors opened my right elbow, I don't know what they did, put my right arm on a cast and now here I am, leaving a huge scar with stitches in the process of it all.

The middle sized scar happened when I was around two or three years old. All I can say is that I was a stupid kid back then, but our maid was even more careless than I was. Long story short, I put my left hand underneath the iron while our maid was ironing our clothes. My family tried treating me, and they did, the pain soon stopped but it left of course a scar and they couldn't do anything about that.

Lastly, this was during my fourth grade. I had pus on my right leg. If you don't know what pus is I suggest you google it, but don't do google images if you're eating or anything like that. I had a few of them on my right leg and my dad helped me treat them. Now it's just coin sized scars on my right leg.

My battle scars taught me to be more careful with life, but at the same time treat them with love for they give us life lessons that we may need from time to time.

What about you? Do you have battle scars to share?