Screaming tears were falling down my face as my voice projected at its highest peak. Blood was slipping off the tip of my nose and dripped to my mouth. What had been the pasty white wall had never been so brick red until this very moment. The gruesome taste of my own blood, projected from my forehead, was the part that was the most frightening. After all I was in the middle of my terrible two’s, running from the living room to the kitchen, like any other child my age. My brain was nowhere near the end of its development, yet I never would’ve thought that the ends of where the two walls meet could be so sharp. Left with a panic-stricken reaction, my great grandma, Mawmaw was the only person at home with me.
Mawmaw was always considered the go-to babysitter for my parents because they knew she was dependable and responsible no matter what the situation. All my life I’ve been told to be there for someone because you may never know what that person is going through or having to face in their lifetime. So they would do the same for me, be there for me with full support and a massive opinion of their own. Yet, it educated me to desire to be a more dependable being.
A scar left on a person is a symbol, meaning I was strong through it all. The pressure of my mom and dad being in the ER with me was not only a weight on my shoulders, but a sigh of relief knowing I was going to be okay. I looked up to them as my protectors, so I had nothing but positive thoughts traveling through my mind. Even at my worst times I could count on the two to be there for me, which became a lesson that stuck with me from then on. Later, those feelings of being pressured had gone away as six stitches were being inserted from one piece of skin to another. The line of stitches then became a mark of integrity, leaving behind a story to tell if someone would ask, “ What happened? ”
During my childhood I was always very thoughtful, yet aware of the things going on around me. As I continue to grow, I’ve become the person I get along with the best. A person who loves to socialize with others that are trying to clear an obstacle with only the toughest barriers to jump. By creating this sacred “masterpiece” on my forehead, I’ve come to realize that the feeling of having a family member, or friend to confide in is the most warming way for me to feel accomplished.
So, if someone is tempted to ask about my scar in college, I’ll tell them my story proudly as my impression. Whether it’s everyone I become friends with, or the first person I meet, I’ll tell it the same every time with nothing more or nothing less than how it really was. I mean after all, What can I say,? It’s my little scar of honor, hopefully leaving a memory to the people who have asked, “What happened to your forehead?”