It came to my attention yesterday that some scars are more proudly displayed than others. This is with good reason. Some scars show nobility, honor, sacrifice; some show stupidity, mischief, foolhardiness. A soldier who has just returned from combat might be proud of the bullet he took in his toosh, and he might even be proud enough to show it off to all his friends. A soldier who returns from the field after receiving a purple heart for "injuries sustained while hula-hooping" might be less enthusiastic about his mark(s).
This all came to light when I, a gentle but somewhat competitive soul, was hit in the forehead by an errant tennis racket. We were playing a friendly game at the home of a wealthy and important individual, when all of a sudden I felt a solid THUMP landing somewhere on my face. It didn't hurt that bad, and I was actually running out of the court to retrieve an overshot ball when I said to myself, "Man, I must be sweating a lot out here." I reached up above my left eye to swab a loose bead of sweat, and to my amazement, my hand came back red. I put my forearm up to my head – it came back even redder. By the time I made it to the house, my whole eyebrow and eye were covered in blood. I was a mess.
There was a nurse down by the garage and she took one look and sent me inside to get bandaged up. They led me through a $1,000,000 home to a much too fancy bathroom where I was scared to even use a Kleenex for fear of leaving the place hopelessly red. I kept apologizing to the master of the house, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t want to make a mess.” The funniest (and best) part though is that this wealthy and important individual was actually the one to help clean my wound and spread antiseptic with his finger. Talk about humility!
So today I bear a scar: a ¾” gash above my left eye that kinda resembles a boxing injury. I don’t know how noble it is to say you were held down and beat with a tennis racket, but that’s the story I’m using. Wearing two band-aides on your head doesn’t seem like a good way to attract the ladies, but I suppose it works when you add the necessary, “you should see the other guy.”
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3 comments:
even after the throw down with that big guy at the tennis court, he still played a mean game of softball, band-aids and all. :)
Remember the movie, "Roxanne?" Those men got beat up with a tennis racket. You could always say you made fun of Steve Martins nose. And by the way, do "real" men wear bandaides? Don't they just slap a little super glue in the wound and call it good?
Well, it was more for the concerns of those watching than for my personal safety. I wanted to put them all at ease.
And super glue is not nearly as fun as rubber cement (although it smells better). Duct tape would have been manly.
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