From Life in Season: Celebrate the Moments that fill your heart & home:
Yes son, I remember that one vividly.
“Here’s one I got when I was your age.” I pointed to my bottom lip. “I fell and bit right through it!” He was fascinated with is and wanted all of the gory details.
“…and see this one?” He excitedly pointed out to me, interrupting my own scar-riddled tale. “This one was from when I almost cut my finger off from slamming it in the door!”
Oh yes. That one I remember like yesterday.
Being an eight year old boy, he was all about one-upping, and being an eight year old boy, he had far surpassed me by now, in the scar department. He received some perverse pleasure in his scars, like they were a badge of honor from surviving his first years of life. To me, though, they represented fear. Fear and a melancholy, lingering sense of failure, as a parent. Failure that, in those moments, I hadn’t been watching quite as closely as I should have. That I hadn’t monitored these “situations” and the ending results had been many bandages and urgent care visits. They spoke to me and reminted me of my often-lingering sense of inadequateness my mothering.