My Farorite Scar

When I was six or seven years old I got a pair of roller blades for my birthday. They were the coolest things I’d ever seen! They were black and purple with green straps and silver wheels, and they were mine. Sharing everything you got for your birthday with your brother because his birthday was four days before yours was a terrible punishment for having a younger brother, but these were just for me.

I could slide down hills, I was learning to move my feet, I’d only tripped once. Things were looking good. So one day, my dad being at my cousins house next door helping shoe a horse, I thought I’d go get him to tell him something important. Better yet, I would skate on over there and see how proud he was that I had gotten all the way over there.

I put my skates on, I strapped them up, and I headed out the door. This was going to be one good day. We’d probably have ice cream after lunch, go to the lake, it was Saturday, Dad didn’t have to go home until Monday. Everything was fantastic.

With a smile on my face I reached the road and started scooting along. I soon realized this was harder than going up and down my smooth driveway, the asphalt was rough and hard to move on. I decided to try something different and walk instead. I had gotten about ten feet down the road and suddenly my skate wouldn’t move. My wheel had gotten caught on something and all I could see was the road underneath me. I remember hearing a smack, and some clashing of plastic on rock, but I can’t remember feeling the impact.

Luckily my older brother, Mike, had been outside in the side yard watching me while doing chores, probably thinking how dumb I looked, as always. But none the less, as he had many times and as an older brother should, he came to my rescue. My older brother ran to my side, picked me up, took me inside, got me some ice and a blanket and laid me on the couch. Mike called my dad and told him to come home, I probably had to go to the hospital.

I did end up going to the hospital, some of my teeth were messed up, I was lucky my jaw wasn’t broken, and I was going to be eating soft foods for a while but it was ok.

The real scar is what I got laying there, waiting for my dad to get back. Mike came back to make sure I was ok. I told him I was. The next thing I remember is the words I will never forget.

“Hey, stupid. Next time land on your butt.” After that Mike left, he was gone, and I sat there crying. Scars heal, you forget pain, but a mean older brother will always be a part of your life.