spencer rifle
Grandmaster
We all have them. Or so I thought.
My wife is teaching a children's class at the library, where they read a book and talk about it. This one was about the Indonesian tsunami, and talks about the scars left by the disaster. My wife tried to relate it to them by asking them about their scars. They had no idea what she was talking about - even the 14 year olds. None of them had scars. I remember gaining a few in my youth, but maybe I just engaged in more risky behavior? Or maybe kids today are over protected.
My most obvious:
I was cleaning a cheap tourist drinking glass by hand (because that's how we cleaned things back then) that I got where I worked. While swabbing out the inside, the glass shattered, slicing my hand pretty good in two places. That was over 34 years ago, and the scars stare me in the face every day.
Right thumb - ran it on a table saw while making snowman ornaments to give a way at Christmas, 1992. Of course they "had to check for bone fragments" - worse than the saw cut.
Left index finger - sliced it open while attempting to fix a slipping belt buckle on my backpack during a week long trip in the Blue Ridge, 2013.
Left palm - tripped on the steps while carrying an ash tray (remember those?) containing palms I had just burnt to make "holy ashes" -a Catholic thing back then. Shattered the ash tray. 1969.
Most of the other scars are on the inside .
My wife is teaching a children's class at the library, where they read a book and talk about it. This one was about the Indonesian tsunami, and talks about the scars left by the disaster. My wife tried to relate it to them by asking them about their scars. They had no idea what she was talking about - even the 14 year olds. None of them had scars. I remember gaining a few in my youth, but maybe I just engaged in more risky behavior? Or maybe kids today are over protected.
My most obvious:
I was cleaning a cheap tourist drinking glass by hand (because that's how we cleaned things back then) that I got where I worked. While swabbing out the inside, the glass shattered, slicing my hand pretty good in two places. That was over 34 years ago, and the scars stare me in the face every day.
Right thumb - ran it on a table saw while making snowman ornaments to give a way at Christmas, 1992. Of course they "had to check for bone fragments" - worse than the saw cut.
Left index finger - sliced it open while attempting to fix a slipping belt buckle on my backpack during a week long trip in the Blue Ridge, 2013.
Left palm - tripped on the steps while carrying an ash tray (remember those?) containing palms I had just burnt to make "holy ashes" -a Catholic thing back then. Shattered the ash tray. 1969.
Most of the other scars are on the inside .
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