"Just ask me to show you the scars." ~ Bob DylanYou are undoubtedly familiar with those questionnaires designed to make us reveal all kinds of personal things about ourselves... favorite color, favorite food, etc. I don't really care for these chain letters, but I did find a question on one of these quite interesting. How many scars do you have?
The first scars that came to mind were the most visible, followed by a few private scars. It took a little work to remember the one I am going to tell you about here. It has to do with this picture of a tricycle.
Seems like my brother and I spent hours riding around on our tricycles on our little driveway back home in Maple Heights, Ohio. One day when I was three, maybe four, years old I was riding with a dowel in my mouth. This is the tip of the day: Do not let your kids ride around on a trike with a dowel in their mouths. They probably should not run with a stick in their mouths either.
You can already guess where this is going. We're talkin' scars, baby. I have a scar on the roof of my mouth, penetrated by a wooden dowel the size of a thin pencil. My memory of the incident is forgotten, but the following six months or more will never be forgotten as the tip of my tongue continually returned to feel the crater, fascinated by the feel and strangeness of it.
Alas, live and learn, as they say. No permanent damage. Just a little adventure along life's way. As mom ever used to say: "Boys will be boys."
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