The first of these markings was bestowed upon me by my kind sister. For reasons only she knew, she stood about five feet behind me wielding a huge stick. Heck, that thing looked like a tree branch! "Move!" she yelled as she hurled it at the back of my head. The resounding crack could be heard all around, causing blood to flow freely down my neck and all over my newly acquired sweater.
I stumbled into the house, howling like a banchee while pleading for her to be severely punished. She continued to repeat that it was an accident, that "he should've gotten out of the way!" Right, in two seconds? Yes, that's my family for ya.
The most memorable of my souvenirs was awarded to me by my cousin, the closest person in the world to me. Yes, that cousin. I guess everybody has a dark side, huh?
It started innocently enough. We were standing outside on the driveway, enjoying a hot summer sun. Against my mom's wishes, my cousin had taken one of her nice glasses out with him, so he wouldn't have to remain indoors to enjoy his coolade.
I snuck up from behind, surprising him and making him drop the glass onto the pavement where it promptly shattered. "You are gonna get into so much trouble," I taunted. "No I'm not," he said as the tears came. "You made me break it!" "No I didn't, you broke momma's cup." "Yeah, but it wasn't my fault!"
I retreated a few steps and smugly smacked my lips, licking away the last of a glazed donut. Deciding that my attitude was too much for his liking, and probably panicking quite a bit as well, he seized me by my neck and bit a big chunk out of my head with his teeth.
Again, I plunged into the house and to my parents, vowing swift revenge. At this point my cousin began to cry also, realizing the severity of what he'd done. As with most childhood arguments, there were gray areas in terms of who was right or who was wrong. I mean, I had deliberately gotten under his skin, but biting my head? Ouch.
If I hit that spot just right, it still hurts to this day. And whenever my hair is cut, I believe you can still see the scar if you look closely enough. It's at the back of my head, on top.
These markings symbolize childhood. They remind me that not everything people do makes sense, or is well thought out, and when one gets too carried away in him or herself and fails to consider others, the consequences can be dire.