Scars

When you are a kid you are proud of your scars. You show off your scabs like badges of honor and accomplishment.  You've done something that hurt you and eventually made you more interesting, stronger or better.

You jumped a ramp, landed wrong and busted your lip, knee or elbow. Or maybe all three?  Awesome! If you have lived your whole life without getting a scar, you were one lame ass kid for sure. Your parents or people in your life didn't push you hard enough. You never succumbed to peer pressure. You never accepted a dare or ever got into a fight.  Traditionally, as you get older, your mental scars seem to take over the storyline and your physical scars are often forgotten.

Scars can be pretty awesome. They teach you things and act as reminders of the past.  They are like road maps of your adolescence and growth. Tattoos are nothing like scars and should never be compared to them. Tattoos are decisions you made to alter your once perfect skin.  Scars are the unpredictable result of decisions or circumstances and represent something you earned. You earn things in your life through accomplishments or abilities. You pay for a tattoo.

My daughter is fascinated by my scars and always asks for me to retell the stories of how I got them. She runs her fingers across the lines or bumps and tries to imagine what happened to cause them. Let's start at the top and work our way down on the scarring of my body.

Top of my head, towards the back:

I wrote about this incident in Pull The Trigger. It's the chapter called "Get Up". While helping a family friend build an electronic gate, we were moving materials from one location to the other via a flatbed trailer.  A trailer we forget to securely latch to the truck. At about 35mph, I, along with my dad and cousin, were forces to jump from the moving and unhitched trailer. I landed on my feet and then immediately on my head.  That's the only scar I have that came with stitches. Due to its location, it's the one nobody, besides the lady that cuts my hair, can see.  It’s also one of the reasons I hope to never to bald.  I'm not exactly tall and balding would make it pretty visible to the world. I'm not ashamed of it; I'd just rather not be bald.

Below my lower lip, but above my chin:

You can blame my dad and brother Michael for this one.  Mostly Michael. A few hours before attending the annual hayride in Henly Texas, the three of us were wrestling in the living room. My brother Michael fell on me and that caused my two front teeth to go through the skin below my lower lip. Had this happened later in life, perhaps I could have just put a piercing there and used it as an example as to how "emo" or "alternative" I was willing to be, but since I was 12 and got along with my parents, it resulted in just being a scar.  The worst part of the whole thing was that night; it was pretty much a lock that I was going to make out with a neighbor girl. The bloody gauze and swelling prevented that from happening. I had to settle for a night of hand holding and funny looks.  Weeks later we broke up, so I never got to go to first base with her. To this day, I have yet to make out with anyone during a hayride. Guess that one stays on the bucket list?

Right forearm:

My sister Kim is probably one of the meanest sisters to ever walk this earth.  She was the oldest and because of that, she was always the smartest.  She's a girl and their brains work differently than most boys. They are willing to go to the next level of ruthless behavior. Tween and teenage boys, at least when we were growing up, just weren't programmed to operate on that level of sinister. Kim used to play this game called "cat toss"' where she would throw a cat on you while you were relaxing or sleeping on the couch. To this day, I have a 3 inch scar (the longest and most visible scar on my body) because I made the mistake of falling asleep on the couch. I have had this scar longer than any other. Kim is still meanest and toughest member of the Murphy family, but scar in all; I love the hell out of her.

Right elbow:

Located inches away from the above forearm scar.  Another cat related scar.  People wonder why I prefer dogs?  My wife Christal and I packed up everything of value and loaded it into my white Ford ranger. The state of South Carolina, particularly Charleston, was forced to evacuate due to Hurricane Floyd and we chose to drive to Alabama to visit a friend of mine.  Might as well make something positive out of this traumatic experience right? As we were parked on the interstate, around 3am, our cat Smitty had enough of being in the car carrier and lashed out towards my arm and cut me across the elbow. The devastating hurricane is coming and I'm stuck in deadlock traffic dripping blood from my elbow.  Thank God for fast food napkins.

Right hand, pinky finger:

Cat scars come in threes?  My wife Christal and I were moving from Massachusetts to California and it was day three of the marathon drive. We learned our lesson from the above trip, so we let the cat roam the cabin this time. I was in the passenger seat and somewhere near Elko Nevada (total dump by the way) it started to rain. Smitty decided she hated the windshield wipers and ran 90mph from the floorboard to over my shoulder. Somewhere during that trip, her back legs sliced open my pinky finger and I began to bleed like a stuck pig. Nothing like starting a new job, where everyone wants to shake your hand, with your whole finger covered in bandages.

Left hand.  Ring finger:

I don't like to use public bathrooms.  Taking a leak is ok; it's the other thing I try hard to avoid.  Not phobic about it, I just avoid it if I can.  Yet, when nature calls, you gotta go. I was sitting in a bathroom stall in Worcester, Ma and as I reached for the toilet paper to finish up my business, I cut my ring finger on the edge of the metal box that houses the paper.  In hindsight, the velocity in which I went to tear the paper probably wasn't the best idea.  It cut me deep and across the inside of my entire ring finger going right to left.  Wiping your ass, while dripping enough blood to create a CSI crime scene is never ideal.  All the time, trying to keep it off your khaki pants.   This story also helps to remind me of when I got my last tetanus shot.

Right knee.  Perfect size 9 1/2 shoe:

In my junior year in high school a kid, from an opposing team, slid into my leg.  I flipped end over end and began to bleed all down my leg and into my sock. To this day, you can still see the perfect pattern that the metal cleats left in the side of my leg around my knee. That's why left handed people shouldn't play second base.  Especially when you have a 3rd baseman that couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. If you understand how that works, you could probably recreate the scene in your head. 

Scars are great reminders. Like smells and songs, they are great memory triggers. They can also remind you why you shouldn't be doing certain things and can often act as visual warnings to others considering doing that same stupid act.  As you can see, none of my scars are all that scandalous and because of that, they come with no shame or regret.

Mental scars are different. Those often do come with shame and deeper consequences than just a few blemished areas on your body.  They are also easier to hide and keep from the world. Sadly, with mental scars, you're not always aware of where they came from or how they have altered you. They don't teach you or tell the same kind of story physical scars can potentially share.  Allow your physical scars to teach others and pass along great stories and lessons. Be aware of the emotional and mental ones, and don't allow yourself to negatively affect those you influence. Like physical scars, just because you have one, doesn't mean others have to be altered or affected as well. Pass along the knowledge, not the burden.