It happens.

Sometimes our frail bodies can sustain enough of an injury to break open our skin. If the tear or cut is big enough, it means stitches and, of course, stitches turn into scars.

These days, a doctor will go out of their way to avoid any kind of unsightly scar.  Even then, with all the advancements of plastic surgery, just about any kind of scarring can be minimized.

But if you are of an age, back when you were cut bad enough, they’d stitch you up in a minute just like you were on a World War I battlefield.  Maybe an injection to numb you, or at least that spray stuff.

I was around the age of 5 and playing hide and seek with the neighborhood kids.  I remember that I was asked by someone, I believe it was my parents, NOT to hide behind the Crockers car next door.  It was a green, 1950 something with a chrome bumper in the back.  A shiny, sharp bumper.

As you would expect, ask a kid not to do something and that’s exactly what they’ll do. So, I crouched down in the ready to quickly get up and run to ‘free’ as soon as the searcher turned their back and as I stood up—yep, the bumper was just the right height to slice my knee open.  I believe it was 5 stitches.  I’m sure it hurt, but it was so long ago.  All I know is that 53 years later, I still have the faintest scar on my right knee to serve as a permanent reminder never to crouch down behind a green car from the 1950s.

The reminder must have worked, because I never did it again.

Well, I just paused long enough to look at my knee again.  Honestly, you can’t even see the scar anymore.  Now I’m developing this strange urge to play ‘hide ‘n seek.’  I know a great place to hide.

Oh, wait.  It was my left knee and it’s still there.

I think I better just sit here and check Facebook again.

Tim Hunter