Second Tribute to Gratitude

I am thankful for the scar on my chin.

When I was little, my parents went on a date and left my second oldest brother, Jason, in charge. (Apparently the oldest wasn't responsible enough.) They left one specific instruction: "No playing tag in the house."

So what did we do? That's right, we played "Hide and Go Seek Tag" in the house...in the dark. Jason was "it" and I thought I had a good hiding spot in the basement, but he saw me so I bolted for the stairs. They are wooden stairs which makes them not just hard, but slick. I could feel him on my heels and was afraid he would swipe at me at any moment. Almost to the top, I slipped and landed hard on my chin. I remember crying and Jason cleaning my wound in the bathroom. He wouldn't let me see it in the mirror, so I knew it was bad.

I cried myself to sleep waiting for my parents to get home. When they did, they took me to the hospital for stitches. I remember being shoeless and telling my dad that I had forgotten my jellies (shoes) and they wouldn't let me in. He laughed and told me they wouldn't even notice.

I got stitches and it actually tickled.

I don't remember my parents saying one thing about us disobeying them, but did they really need to? No, the scar on my chin is a reminder that sometimes someone knows better than I do.

Luckily the scar is on the bottom of my chin and people barely notice it. I actually like it now. It's my war wound. It's my reminder that if I choose to do wrong, there may be consequences that last a lifetime. So, yes, I am grateful for that inch long scar on my chin.