Scars

I was a fairly clumsy child.

At our former house, we had a pool in the back yard. At around age three I managed to fall into that pool. It’s a vague memory. I can recall sinking to the bottom, sitting cross-legged on the pools ‘floor’. We were having a family dinner that day, and thankfully one of my cousin’s dove in and retrieved me. I can recall that there was a lot of fuss over the whole thing, but that’s where the memory ends.

In our backyard, we also had this area that was essentially a dirt pit where we used to play. We had a swing set in this dirt pit that wasn’t particularly fastened down. A year or so after the pool incident my younger brother, older cousin and I were playing around the swing set. I don’t remember who was swinging, but it wasn’t me, because one leg of it lifted up and when it came back down my thumb was in the way. I still have the scar from that fiasco on the thumb of my left hand.

In the same time frame, we were over to my grandparents for a family dinner. I don’t remember which holiday it was, but that’s irrelevant. My slightly younger cousin, younger brother, and I were running through the house. In true klutz fashion I wasn’t paying any attention to where I was going and ran smack-dab into the doorjamb of the next room. Brilliant, I know. That scar is fairly faint, but it’s still there on the left side of my forehead.

I’m lucky to have made it to the age of five, let alone twenty. :D