Road Trip Wednesday is a blog carnival, where YA Highway’s contributors and readers post a weekly writing- or reading-related question and answer it on our own blogs. You can hop from destination to destination and get everybody’s take on the topic.
This week, Road Trip Wednesday the prompt was: RTW: What is the story of your best scar?
Hmm, well there was this one time He Who Shall Not Be Named tried to kill me, which left an ugly lightening bolt–shaped scar on my forehead. It’s unfortunate because I look terrible with bangs.
Right.
To be honest, I don’t have a lot of scars. That’s a minor miracle since I’ve been named Clumsiest Person Alive by People magazine twenty years and counting. I’m also surprised I haven’t severed a limb by now.
I really only have one scar that I can think of: one a bit smaller than a pencil eraser above my right eye. Here’s where I wish I could lie and tell you it happened while skiing or during a particularly intense game of Gimme The Remote with my sister. But the truth is, I was standing perfectly still when it happened.
It was the morning of my gymnastics recital. I had gotten over the chicken pox earlier that week, so my body was covered in fading spots and ugly scabs. My mom was afraid the other parents would assume I had an infectious disease or something.
Well there was this one scab right over my eye that couldn’t decide whether to hang on or fall off. Looking back, it was probably disgusting. So she ripped it off. And I’ve had a chicken pox–shaped scar ever since.
Also, I gave up gymnastics. Not because of the scar, though. I finally learned that it wasn’t the best sport for klutzes.
What’s the story behind your scars?
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