The story of how I got my scars when I was five or six is probably my most vivid memory from childhood. We lived in an apartment complex that had a big metal gate, during the summer evenings, the adults from the building would come out and play poker together, and us kids would just run around the yard and keep each other company while our parents played. One evening, me and the other kids were climbing the gates for fun, and what do you know, I slipped and fell off into the garbage bin near it. Coincidentally, there was a large pile of glass shards in the bin that day.... I was cut in two places: my right knee cap and the inner side of my right arm. I distinctly remember my mom picking me up from the glass pile; at the time I didn't even realize that I got a cut on my knee until I saw a bulb of blood forming. I vividly remember that the frilly white socks I wore got stained with the blood running down my leg.At the hospital, a very inexperienced young doctor messily stitched up my knee, which didn't hurt much, but the cut on my arm hurt so much that we decided to just let it be. So that's the memory I want to share. Not very funny or cute or sad, but it was very vivid, and the only time I have ever been seriously hurt.
I thought of including a picture of my scar but that's just too weird; they do look a lot better today though, I hardly ever notice them!
Anyhow, thanks for reading and have a good weekend!
