I received my first scar when I was five-years old. I had been lying under the coffee table and tired to stand up, but instead, I hit the corner of the table, resulting in a small gash on my forehead. My parents rushed me to the emergency room where I was stitched up. My grandmother fussed over me, complaining about the scar I would have above my right eye. In my young mind I heard star and I thought it was neat I had a ‘star’ on my forehead. I have other childhood scars, lumps, bumps and bruises from falls off bicycles, skateboards, and rollerskates, smallpox pockmark, acne, and chickenpox. Scars from multiple surgeries, scars from being a klutz; including unfortunate accidents with a glue gun and a pocketknife. (I received the Boo-Boo award at Girl’s Camp for the pocketknife incident). A scar from a staph infection where surgeons had to cut into my throat, below my jawbone, to remove the dead skin tissue because of a staph infection, and a scar on my lower belly where surgeons had to perform an emergency Cesarean section to save my youngest son’s life.
These marks can be seen as disfigurements, stains, or imperfections, but they are my badge of honor and I am not ashamed of my scars.