Holding my knee's tightly to my chest, I can't help but notice the faded scars that line my shins. Each mark tells a story of adventures and mishaps I've encountered over my seventeen years - constant reminders of mistakes and discoveries I've made thus far in my shortly lived life. I begin to day dream, carefully recalling each detail as I sit comfortably on my bedroom floor.
On the inside of my left ankle I see the very faint scar from the summer I turned six. My oldest brother Geoff was out riding his bike and invited me to join him. As I climbed on the handle bars of his small green bike I wondered where we would ride to; the power lines down the road? The private road we weren't allowed to ride on? Or down the giant hill that ended just at my driveway? I continued to shout out suggestions in a way only little sisters can even though it was clear to me that he'd make up his mind; we were going to climb to the top of the steep hill. When we finally reached the top, he was standing on the pedals using every last ounce of strength to get us there. he released the break and the wind brushed against us as we sped full speed down the hill. We quickly made our descent and our house was only seconds away. Geoff tried to round the corner, slamming on the breaks as he entered the dirt driveway. The bike went skidding out from underneath us, throwing us both down to the rocky ground. I stood up quick as I could only to realize my foot was caught in the spokes of the bicycle wheel's tire. At the sight of the blood I instantly burst into tears and my brothers rushed me inside. My parents took me to the doctor's to find out that the fall had caused me to severely sprain my ankle. The next day, I was riding my bike again.
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...y feet before I could even realize what had happened. I went inside to a shocked and angry father as my eyebrow and forehead began to swell to the size of a golf ball. I went to the doctor and learned that there was no real damage and we could expect the golf ball on my forehead to heal on its own and go away. One week later, before the swelling had fully gone down and the bump had even begun to heal, I hit my very first baseball, with that very same baseball bat.
So with my knees tucked underneath my chin, as these videos flash through my mind, I admire the scars. For me, they are much more than wounds that have faded, they are constant reminders of healing from mistakes and bruises that only make me stronger. I keep that in the back of my mind as I stretch out my legs and pull myself up off the ground, determined to keep going, no matter what gets me down.
Carlton, a 6-year-old boy, was playing on a sandy beach with his mother. He began to run along the shoreline when he stepped on the sharp edge of a shell, giving himself a deep cut on his foot. His mother washed his foot in the lake and put on his running shoe to take him home. One day later, Carlton’s foot looked worse. The gash was red and painful. The foot was warm to touch and appeared swollen. Carlton’s mom put some gauze over the wound and prepared to take him to the local community health clinic.
Tim O’Brien in “The Things They Carried; Speaking of Courage,” his short story shows how war leaves permanent scars. O’Brien’s short story mainly focuses on a character named Norman Bowker, who returns from fighting in the Vietnam war and is unable to leave his past behind. Norman lives with his father, who only sees any war as a heroic and amazing thing. Likewise, Norman Bowker’s father is only interested in how many medals his son has earned. Bowker being unable to talk about the war with his father, and not have any connections from his old girlfriend Sally or even friends, he endlessly drives around the lake in town “feeling safe inside his father’s big Chevy” (O’Brien). In the short story “The Things They Carried; Speaking of courage,” by Tim O’Brien, the symbol of water is integrated throughout.
First there was the ground that wasn’t as firm as I thought it was; my right sneaker falling victim to the deceptive scattered branches that littered the floor, probably only inches thick, allowing water to creep in and wet my sock. Then there were the dead branches that I tried to use as a bridge to avoid this, which snapped under my overbearing 150 pounds. And of course every branch was connected to the last by a series of intricate spider webs; every one I ducked to get under just happened to have a neighbor right underneath. The list goes on. But the small wound where the palm of my hand met my thumb didn’t seem like it would be a big deal until I was back in the boat. I didn’t realize that it would trigger such intense emotions and drag me so deep into a pit of despair.
The scars of our pasts are said to have established a place among our present, however visible or invisible, and that these scars, through time, are unpeeled before our future selves. The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini is about the story of a man, Amir, who relays his life during the times of peace and conflict in Afghanistan, and his life in the United States. It is about the life of a man who tries to escape his shameful past, but is constantly lost and incomplete as a result. As the story revolves around the life of Amir, from childhood to adulthood, Hosseini utilizes first person point of view of Amir, various use of diction, and the symbolism of kites to reveal the underlying message of how the past is a part of whom we were and who we are today.
Sometimes it leaves red raw scars that will eventually fade into silver marks- blemishes that will never leave you. Someday the memories will be in loud colour but sometimes you might remember it in muted black and white –it doesn’t matter what shade the memories are; you will never forget.
Growing up I always found a way to injure myself, not intentionally, but I was able to acquire some type of injury. The injuries tended to range from obtaining stitches from falling on a cabinet to jamming a finger playing a sport. With injuries, came individuals (i.e. doctors, nurses) willing to help me pull through the injury as I would do the same for them if they were injured. These aspects of my life have led me to the career path of a Physical Therapist. One of the many elements which draws me to this field of work, is that I enjoy science and learning the ways of the body as it is extremely fascinating to observe how all of the bodily functions work together.
Survival is a necessity that individual needs to know and it needs to be done daily to ensure that humans are able to live on. There are many people in the world that are living well off, yet many people suffer from deadly diseases, food, and the impact from the war. In the following literature, Macbeth by William Shakespeare, The Kite Runner by Khald Hosseini, Lord of the Flies by William Golding, and “The Necklace” by Guy de Maupassant all show that survival is a key element. Survival is significant for us as human beings; it would is shown differently in the four literatures.
Everyone has scars, they can remind us of the past and they can remind us that wounds heal. We can pick to let the scars renew the pain they cause when they were made of we can use them to look back and see how well we’ve improved. They may always be there but they don’t have to affect us.
In the summer of 1995 I woke up in the middle of the night screaming in pain and holding my knee. My mom discovered a large lump bulging out the side of my right knee. The next morning my parents took me to the E.R. where they told us it was "growing pains" and thus sent us on our way with 200 mg of ibuprofen. That summer I was excited to join my first softball team. I soon found out I had to sit out on a lot of games because I was hurting. As a result my parents presumed I was making it up and thought I didn't want to play softball anymore.
It happened during a warm night in volonia about to play a game . I was warming up in the outfield and I was warming up with a 12 oz baseball. Why was I warming up with a 12 oz base ball I don’t know? Ok back to the story. So me and another fellow teammate was throwing around a 12 oz baseball and when he threw it into my glove WHACK!! It hit me in the face and I was out cold for about ten seconds then my coach shook and almost had a heart attack. Everyone was freaking out because where the ball hit me it was a little close to my temple. So got up and me and my mom got in my truck and we went to conway to a hospital. When we got there I was hurting and a hour later i'm in the
When I was just 11 years old, I fractured my ankle playing basketball at the local park. The pain was white-hot and excruciating. I was reduced to a sobbing, blubbering, mess and unrecognizable upon my arrival the doctor’s office. After the diagnosis and subsequent surgery, I was placed on crutches and barred from participating in physical activity for at least six weeks. This was paramount to torture for my 11 year-old energetic and hyper-active self. Seeing my friends run around short of breath because of their own intoxicating laughter was bittersweet at best. One evening at the local park, I was just about ready to go insane until I surveyed my immediate surroundings and noticed a couple of kids my age sitting at a wooden table a couple of feet
Every human being on earth accumulates scars of this nature. From errors made in the past come forth blemishes on the soul that serve as permanent reminders of one’s mistakes, and the scars provide maps to roads not to be taken again.
So About a year or maybe like I don’t know a year and a half ago I hit my leg with a trash bag no big deal right? Ha, Ha, WRONG! I unknowingly hurt my ankle bad enough to cut it open and cause it to bleed, bad. I had to go to the ER the second time in my life that I had to go. I think I was there for maybe an hour, I got about 15 stitches (probably less) but that didn’t hurt. Now what did hurt was getting the numbing medicine or morphine if we’re being specific but I carry on, It was in fact
Sexual abuse plagues people of all shapes, sizes, ethnicity’s, and backgrounds. It can include anything from making a sexual reference, to someone feeling uncomfortable and even rape. In this project, we will break down the different types of sexual abuse and explain why they occur all over the world, every single day.
I was getting ready and started to warm up. The time had come for me to try the hardest trick I have ever attempted, everything was good so far I was getting good speed and my mind was right. I got in the air and kicked my didn’t foot and the board flew out and away from me and when I hit the ground I landed wrong and tried to brace myself with my arm. I heard a pop and I knew my arm was broke. It surprisingly didn’t hurt that bad because it happened so fast but I still called my mom and she came to pick me up to go to the doctor. My arm had a hairline fracture on my lower arm bone, the ulna.