Scars

I fell a lot as a little kid.  My mom says that she cried the first time my little knees kissed the sidewalk.  My knees bear the battle scars of jumping rope, climbing trees, and playing endless games with my little sister.  I remember being embarrassed about my knees, as a teen.  I didn't want anyone to see.  I thought they were ugly.

I'm older now, and I have more scars.  There's the one on my foot that I got while on an eighth grade field trip.  I have one on my right hand from the day I was baking Christmas cookies with my mom, and my hand touched the rack.

I no longer see my scars as something to hide.  My scars tell a story.  They remind me of good times and not so good times.  I don't think I would trade them for anything.