Can you believe that I still have a scar on the back of my hand from my elementary days when another kid pushed me down on the playground? (See my Glenview Elementary School in Haddon Heights, New Jersey, above in May 2013. Below I'm at my kindergarten door (was I ever that short?) and beside the plaque in my old school's hallway.)
Apparently I haven't finished my list of injuries yet, because in the past month of June, (or was it May? Time flows right on by) I fell while walking my dog, earning both an elbow and knee scrape (through long pants and a leather jacket, so it must have been May), had minor arm surgery that resulted in stitches rubbing painfully against my clothes, so I wrapped them up in gauze to keep them tame, and I strapped on a wrist brace to help cure tendonitis. (It's a lengthy process... I'm actually getting a tan line from wearing it so often!) I also scraped my upper arm when my bike tipped over from turning a corner too fast, but it didn't leave any owies visible enough to impress. It just felt like alligator skin when I touched it.)
Since I don't plan to stop running around like a kid every chance I get, I fully intend to earn more scars so I'll have even more stories to tell. After all, isn't telling stories one of the best parts of life?