Scars

I notice scars. I do not mean to stare and take notice, but it turns out I often do. Its not that I am repulsed or even grossed out.  It's the quite the opposite, I am fascinated by scars.

I find the presence of scars to be an example of strength; how far a person has come, what all the have seen, how much they can survive. I am drawn to them. I like to ask how they got there. I like to listen to the stories of survival and triumph.

I am like most people that I see large scars and take notice. But I also am curious about the teeny tiny scars that other people don't necessarily notice.

I personally have both of both sets.
Some of my favorite memories involve scars.I have teeny tiny scars above both eyebrows from the chicken pox I shared with my bff, Ginger when we were six,
the oval near my jawline that matches up with another similar one on the back of my head from a dog attack when I was even younger that was resolved by my dog "going to live on a farm..",
a  navy blue line on my shin that looks like the start to an oddly placed tattoo where I accidentaly jammed a pencil led into my leg in Miss Frose's 1st grade class but was too shy to tell anyone because I cried every time I talked to the teacher, I like this one because that shy girl is no more. I wonder what she would think if she saw me standing at the front of my classroom everyday teaching,
a minimal slash and stitches through my ear from a wild bronco ride when I was four that I would have nailed the landing if it weren't for the coffee table disrupting my dismount,
a medium slash on my lower leg that I received at the state fair while making sand art with my bestie and near twin Camie Baxter when we were about 6th grade that originally was at the ankle but has grown with me and reminds me how much I miss her since her too early death. I think of her and I while shaving my legs almost every time. I think of her and I sharing baths, and swimming in her Jacuzzi, and how that summer she turned her usual golden tan and bleach blonde thanks to the summer sun and looked a lot like a Barbie, and I got third degree sunburns and my momma made me wear a tank top under my swimsuit the rest of summer,
I look at my hands at see the large scar on my right hand that ranges from one side to the other that has finally shrunk to only 1/4 of an inch wide and mostly smooth and remember how much I feel weak when I hold a rope for fear that a. I will not have the hand strength and b. for fear I will have another half inch wide and half inch deep scar if it were to happen again, I look at my left hand and the see pinky crooked and odd textured where the other rope came across and nearly severed it, and yet it is functional and most people never notice its weirdness. I remember asking my mother to pray for me and remember her laughing through tears as she told me she had been for hours and how mean she had to be when they wanted to amputate it and she said no, I look and see the ring finger and realize how thankful I am that it's there because I like the thought of being able to show others someday that I married a man I love more than anything.
I like seeing both hands and both sets of large and crazy scars and realizing how God has watched over me and kept me from harm.
I look on my hips and see my "tiger stripes"(stretch marks) and realize that they do in fact look like tiger stripes... and  I remember how strongly I prayed for my son, how badly I wanted him, how I gave up soda, and hot dogs, and hair dye because I wanted to protect him. I remember praying for him so much and so often when he was in his belly home God prolly got tired of hearing my voice. I look at them and remember how amazing it was to be pregnant with him.I lok at them and think how fun it was to see and feel him swim around. How neat it was to listen to his heart beat on the stethoscope. How I use to play Aerosmith and Johnny Cash at the belly because it made him wiggle and dance. I remember what a gift my son is and I am thankful.

These are the are the reasons I like scars on others. I like hearing their tales of crazy, woe, survival, pain, and learning. I like seeing how far they've come and what they can live through. I like the idea that we are stronger and more powerful. I like reminders of how far we've come. I like looking and realizing that we have survived more than we ever thought possible. If you ever see me stare or you overhear me tell someone how cool their scar looks, I am admiring it. I am admiring their personal fortitude. I am in awe of the strength they have. I am in awe of how each one made them more unique and identifiable.

If you were to ask my mother how she would intimacy identify me, she would tell you if something were to happen to me and she had to identify my body. She does not need to see my face. She would ask to see my ear and the scar there, she would ask to see my toes and the toe rings I never take off, and she would ask to see my hands. I guess my mother and I think a lot a like.