Is beauty skin deep?

I was visiting my favorite Libra girl… and happened on “a long meme” that she borrowed from That Bitchy Chick. Yes, it is L-O-N-G… but I was completely captured by the first question. Here it is:

How did you get one of your scars?

Now, I am assuming that this question relates to physical scars, but I am sure that we could all come up with a multitude of emotional scars. Yes? But for today, I’ll stick with the things sometimes known as cicatrices that result from tissue replacement in the healing process after an injury or wound.

This question brought me back to when I was 5 years old. I remember driving in the back seat of my parents’ car, my brothers sitting on each side of me. There were no car seats. Booster seats. Seat belts. Just a seat and a prayer. As we pulled in front of my Nana’s house, I can still hear my Dad telling us,”Don’t open the doors.” My parents always opened the doors, waited until we piled out… and then they, always, shut the car doors. Those were the rules.

Well, that day I broke one of those rules and I almost lost my finger. I decided that I was plenty old enough to shut the car door. As my parents arranged whatever things were being carried into Nana’s home, I just slammed the car door. Problem is… I did it so quickly that my pinkie finger went along for the ride. Door slammed shut. Finger in door.

I remember the scene like it was yesterday. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t cry. I just stood there until my Mom turned around. There was blood everywhere. She screamed. My Dad raced to the door, opened it gently… then picked me up and ran with me into Nana’s kitchen. My Dad was a medic in the Navy, so he knew exactly what to do. There was no 911, of course, so he did what he had to do in that bloodied kitchen. I remember feeling so faint and weak. But I also remember my Dad holding up my arm, wrapping my hand tightly… and talking to me with such calm. Such love. I kept saying, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I thought I was in great big trouble for slamming that door, but my Dad had more important things on his mind. My finger was dangling from my hand like a broken twig. Within moments my hand was wrapped and steadied and my Dad carried me to our car. My Mom gently cradled me while we tore up the street to the hospital. No cell phones to call to say that he was on his way with a potential amputee. Just me. My massive wrap. My Dad and my Mom.

At the hospital, I was taken immediately into a little white room. I remember it so clearly. My Dad held me in his arms until the doctor arrived. Then the unwrapping began. Then the stitches. Then the bandages. Then the news. I would never move my pinkie finger again.

Well, that didn’t happen. The part about never moving my finger. I am told it is because of my Dad’s quick action. His perfect wrapping. I think it’s because of the love. As my finger healed, my Dad and Mom had me doing little finger exercises that made me smile. Little things with puppets and pretend. Yes, I can move my little finger. But the scar? It extends about one inch from my knuckle to my hand… my adult hand. I see it every day as I get ready to do just about anything. It is a reminder of a day long ago that started out pretty badly… but ended pretty OK.

This brings me to another little scar story. I will make it quick. When Audrey was about 12 years old, she got accidentally smacked in the face with a tennis raquet while playing tennis with a friend. The injury was just above one eyebrow. It bled. And bled. But this is the interesting part. As I hurried her into my car for the trip the the emergency room, a friend of mine said, “I’ll get you the name of a great plastic surgeon to take care of the scar.” Well, at that moment the last thing on my mind was the scar…

But when all was well… a couple of stitches later… I thought, “This scar will tell a story. Just like mine.” I must say that I never, ever, considered consulting a plastic surgeon about that scar over Audrey’s eyebrow. I think of it as a badge of childhood. A moment that changed her face a bit. For the better.

Now I do understand that some scars need to be addressed in ways that mine didn’t. I understand because I have friends whose injuries were debilitating… whose scars were life-altering.

But my little finger… and Audrey’s eyebrow? Beauty is only skin deep. It’s the stories beneath that make us who we are.

Now… do you have a scar that tells a story?

Is beauty skin deep? was last modified: July 28th, 2017 by Sharon Couto
SHOWHIDE Comments (4)
  1. I have so many scars that you’d think I grew up with a bunch of rough older brothers. There’s the one under my right eye that came when I was a toddler and my uncle (only 9 years older than me) tripped me and I fell face first into the coffee table. When I was ten, I got a new bike for Christmas and tried to ride it up the small curb in my grandparents sidewalk…same eye, same place went down and smacked the corner of the sidewalk. In high school, I worked a summer part time on a tobacco farm and was taking a rack apart when it got stuck. Someone tried to help me loosen it and we both managed to get it unstuck…and it flew up right and smacked me right above my eye. All three on the face and barely noticeable except in just the right eye and all three required an insane amount of stiches. I had the kind of childhood where there was little supervision most of the time since we lived in the 70’s & 80’s and in a small town. I have lots of fun scar stories 🙂

  2. OK, the most interesting scar story isn’t that interesting and sort of depressing except that I’m alive.
    I said I had a scar on my neck, most of the time it’s not noticiable but every once in a while, it is.
    I had viral meningitis when I was 7 months old. I had an iv in my neck that they had to tape down so I didn’t pull it out when I moved. It’s really tiny (because I was really really tiny) but every once in a while, someone will say I have something on my neck and I go to wipe it of and realize what it is and then have to explain the scar and being sick when I was a kid

    I’m much more proud of my scars from my shoulder surgery.

  3. I’m glad you turned out okay and was Audrey. I do have a scar story. I was about 7 and we had a fan int he window of my bedroom. The switch said out and in and I wanted to see if the air really blew out. So I stuck my hand outside the other widow but didn’t feel anything. When I pulled my hand back it my index finger was bleeding. No cell phones and we couldn’t reach my dad. My mom didn’t drive so a neighbor took us to the hospital. I had stitches. The doctor said another second and I would lost my finger completely. I still have nice scar that goes around half way around my index finger.

  4. Your story was so scary! I can’t imagine how much that had to hurt.
    I have a fairly large triangle shaped scar on my knee. When I was 5 or 6, one of our cats had a litter of kittens. I decided it would be a good idea to put all of the kittens inside my shirt and take them on a bike ride with me. This was, of course, a bad idea and halfway down the road, one of the kittens jumped out, causing me to fall off the bike. While protecting the other kittens, I managed to gash my knee pretty badly on the road!

Is beauty skin deep? was last modified: July 28th, 2017 by Sharon Couto