A bitch woke up stressed out and tired as hell…so I decided to find a memory to settle my nerves. This is what came to mind…and I thought I’d share!
A childhood memory of perfect…
When this bitch was a wee bitch I met a young girl who bragged about not having any scars.
None…which I thought was impossible, but she then showed me her unblemished legs and arms.
She was scarless, all right!
I, on the other hand, sported scars on my knees and arms and so forth and so on.
I asked the scarless one how she did it…how did she avoid getting marks and hurts that ended up as scars once they healed.
She flipped her hair and then told me that she was careful…she didn’t run when she could walk, didn’t roll when she could sit and never climbed trees.
I left soon after and remember going home and stripping down to my Spider Man undies (yeah, I rocked the Spidey drawers…what?) and looked at myself in my bedroom mirror.
Scars and soon to be scars...on my legs and arms and so forth and so on.
I tilted my head and tugged my Afro puffs tighter and thought about that scarless girl and her definition of perfect.
But she didn’t get to run and run until you trip and fall down and then roll and roll, through freshly cut grass and down that hill in the backyard that scared the shit out of me and was beyond fun to roll down because it scared the shit out of me.
And Ms. No Scars didn’t climb trees…had never climbed a tree…probably wouldn’t ever climb a tree. She’d never felt rough bark under her hands, tested limbs and gone up, up, up and up some more finally resting in that way up high space and seeing the world from a new perspective while knowing that the climb down was going to be yet another adventure.
I put my clothes back on…slipped my feet into my sneakers…and went outside.
Walking faster and faster until I was running, faster and faster…until I tripped and fell, a giggle forced out as I hit the grass…and then I was rolling and rolling, down that crazy hill in the backyard that scared the shit out of me and was cool as hell because it scared the hell out of me.
And I remember thinking, as I lay there gasping at the bottom of that fantabulous hill…
“This is perfect.”
Followed shortly by...
“Oh shit, I fucked my knee up again!”
Have a great Wednesday, y’all...
There's a great quote from Artie Shaw in Ken Burns's Jazz. Talking about the Glenn Miller band, he said, "The only problem with them was that they never made a mistake. And if you're not making mistakes, you're not playing at the limits of your ability."
And "Miss Perfect" is probably scared of life in general and boring as hell to this day, while you are definitely one of the more interesting people out there!
Awesome story. That is really a shame for that other little girl that she was pretty much a fuddy-duddy as a small kid. Running, jumping and playing are the best part of being a kid.
And I love that picture. I assume that is you? SO cute. I loved me some Spidey myself as a wee lass. He rocked (still does even though I haven't been able to get too into the movies of the 90's 00's).
Batman's my superhero. I love the Bat signal in the sky.
Your story reminded me of wondering why Christine O'Donnell wants to brag about being a virgin. Lack of curiosity and of joie de vivre in a politician (or in a woman) is almost a bigger turnoff than perfection.
That made me smile. Great picture and memory.
this is so cute! definitely a metaphor for life. it takes too much energy to be perfect and you waste that time when you could just be enjoying life
Love it. Love it. I got lots of scars too, and I wouldn't trade them for "perfect" skin ever! What a wise little girl you were.
Awesomely cute story!
Your story = awesomeness!!! Thank you for re-affirming my own scars.
When asked what she loved about her body in Fitness magazine, Lolo Jones said:
My legs. I have about 20 scars from where I've hit the hurdles over the years -- and I've earned them all.
Love the childhood picture and hope that you're less stressed.
My pastor gave a sermon similar to your story this Sunday. As I read your story, I kept thinking about the times I've stared at my skinned knees and the scabs forming, or the whole tradition of scarring as a rite of passage, demonstrating to the world how you can hold fast in times of great pain, which in turn made you a great leader, an influence and an inspiration to others. Scars=survival.
I had a scar from a motorcycle muffler for years. I was quite proud of it.
Loved the childhood photo.
Janet in Maine
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