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Wish I’d thought of that
By Wolfie | April 25, 2008
Watching Dexter the other night, it was revealed that he has a scar on the side of his torso*. One of his girlfriend’s** kids asked him what it was: “Sword fight. I won.”
Why is this significant? I was burnt by boiling water as a toddler (my own stupid fault, apparently) and spent nine weeks in intensive care. I don’t remember the event at all (one of the good things about human memory is that it doesn’t really kick in until relatively late) so I just have a bunch of scars to commemorate the event. Most are hidden from everyday view - I was lucky that my startlingly handsome good looks were unaffected by the accident - but there’s one on my right arm that isn’t easily hidden.
Growing up, this meant that the one question I heard more than any other was “What did you do to your arm?”. If you get asked one question enough times, you start to develop a bit of a complex about it and by the time I hit my teens I had developed a rather sullen response (something along the lines of “Fuck off” if I remember correctly). Watching Dexter the other night, I was thrown back to those days and spent the rest of the episode wondering why I couldn’t have thought of something as witty and clever when I needed to.
And that, in turn, got me thinking about how things change as you get older. As I went through school, every year it was new class, new classmates and the same old question. I think pretty much every kid I went to school with asked me that question. Towards the end of secondary school, though, things started to change. First, by then as a student you’ve pretty much met all the new people you’re going to meet at that school. On top of that, people became more reserved about asking; you can see the question form in their head, but something (politeness, revulsion, who knows) stops them asking. Some people still ask, but they are very much in the minority. These days it’s only really young kids or really old people that ask.
The strange thing is that I miss it. I hated that question when I was a kid, but I can’t now remember the last time I was asked and I do, I miss it. Which is weird.
Actually it’s not only Dexter that’s got me thinking about my scars this week (I’d post pictures, but you really wouldn’t like them); Waking The Dead showed a scene where a man got a kettle full of boiling water poured over his legs, right around the area where I’ve got one of my scars. I normally like Waking The Dead but I did have to stop watching for a bit.
I don’t know why it is (as I said I can’t remember the event) but whenever I see anything about someone being burnt - whether it be truth or fiction, and no matter how they get burnt - I can’t take it. I can happily watch Tobe Hooper chop people’s heads off with chainsaws, or Clive Barker pull people apart with hooks and chains, but if someone gets burnt, that’s it I’m outta there. I once had a blazing row with a girlfriend who was watching a news story about a six-year old girl who’d been burnt in a fireworks accident and I turned the TV over; she insisted on watching it and I had to leave the room. (Equally, while I applaud all that Simon Weston has done for soldiers injured in combat and other charities and I identify with his situation, I can’t watch him on TV. I just can’t.)
As you can maybe tell, I’m quite conflicted over my burns. On the one hand, I can see how the scars that I have could be seen as freakish and off-putting to people and they are part of the reason that I’m quite introverted. On the other hand, I’m proud of them in a way. I don’t remember life without them, they are part of who I am and I’m not sure that - given the opportunity - I would give them up.
*For some of you, this episode probably aired months ago. What can I say? We’re backward here in the UK.
**His girlfriend is played by Julie Benz and is it just me, or do you want her to vamp out just once?
Categories: Life |
Tags: Burns, Scars
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:: brightfeather had this to say:
When I was 5 years old and my mom was sick in bed. The baby who could not drink mother’s or cow’s milk required a powered formula that was made up using boiling water. Because the baby was crying and my mother was busy vomiting into a bucket by her bedside I decided to do the job of making up the formula myself. My mother agreed and gave me step by step instructions between bouts of nausea.
Well, I was standing on a kitchen chair pouring boiling water into a supposedly breakproof fireking pitcher when it exploded and the boiling water bathed the entire front of me. My mom staggered out of bed and stripped my clothes off and covered me with udder balm which is used in the dairy industry for cows with mastitis.
I went off to the hospital with the neighbour to be treated for the blistering that took place but they wouldn’t admit me without parental signature so home we came again. For weeks my mom applied udder balm and then lanolin to my blisters. Luckily I did not scar.
However, 3 months later our house burned to the ground. We lived in the bush and my dad was away working. My mom and my brother and I survived. But the child that my mom was carrying was stillborn and I was her midwife for the delivery. I am terrified of fire and very cautious around boiling water.
8:43 pm :: April 28th, 2008