Scar

I do not remember hitting the driveway. I do remember getting back up with the bike awkwardly between my legs. The bent training wheel looked sad, and my mom’s eyes looked terrified. Next, we were in the tiny country doctor’s office. He seemed too young to be a doctor, but I knew he was because he wore a long white shirt as if it were a jacket.

 After picking gravel out of my face, he nervously sewed three stitches between my nose and upper lip. My heart went out to him as my mom threatened that he better not leave a scar. There is no recollection of any pain nor concern about scarring. I was simply worried about continuing to perfect my bike riding skills.

 He did leave a scar. For many years I thought that he had accidently left a piece of grey gravel under the stitches. Until it started to fade in my teens, that grey bump appeared as if there was snot under my nose. I was mortified by this embarrassing defect of my face from age six.

 I knew I was six because it was the same year I started grade one in real school. I was chosen to present a retiring principal with a parting gift on stage. The entire time, I hoped the distance to the audience prevented them from seeing my grey gravel/snot bump.