The Lesson
by Kevin Bahler, SUNY Cortland, May 5, 2008
“I just found two new scars that I never knew existed before.”
“I love that,” my friend says. “Scars are like little lessons.”
Behind every scar is a story. Some people use them to measure toughness. Others use them as reminders of painful lessons we should not have to learn twice. I examine my own body, recalling the lessons.
The dark circle on my wrist taught me not to wrestle on a carpet. The white dot on the base of my thumb tells me that the appropriate reaction to dropping a letter opener is to back away and not to try to catch it in midair. The semicircle on my thumb says to keep said thumb away from the path of a knife when making a sandwich. The dark spot on my heel reminds me that I took tae kwon do for four months, and that a board can still hurt you after you’ve broken it. Down the inside of my right arm are two long lines which my cat gave me when I was holding him without proper care. It reminds me that even the lightest, most superficial scratch that barely draws blood can leave a permanent mark on me.
I look at my index finger, and run my thumb over the small patch of recently dead and hardened skin. I know it will leave a fine scar in good time. The lesson, which I should never forget: when you put the tip of copper wire in a flame, the whole wire gets hot, even if you can’t see it.
“Yeah,” I reply, “every scar is a little lesson. And no matter where it is or what its story, they all say the same thing. You were an idiot.”
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