Show Your Scars

MrKim was in college, in the middle of finals, when a friend said they should go motorcycle riding. He never wore a helmet in those days. Never, ever. His friend insisted.
“It’s wet, raining.”
So he did.
He took the bike out into this church lot, and, possibly, drove out into the road and turned right into an oncoming car. At least:
“That’s what she said. My memory stopped at that point.”
He thinks she might have given herself the benefit of the doubt, and the cop agreed with her story. Anyway, he plowed into the front of the car, shot across the hood and into the windshield. Then, as she slammed on the brakes, he flew back out through the windshield and onto the pavement.
Two metal plates, eight pins, twenty stitches, and ten days in the hospital ensued. But, had he not been wearing the helmet, he would probably be dead.
“The cop came to the hospital, as I was lying there, and gave me a ticket. Reckless driving.”
On the other hand, the bike he was riding survived, while the car was totalled.

People have asked for the header image to be explained. Yes, that’s my arm. I was in-line skating for the second time. My good friend, Mo, told me that I couldn’t get hurt “even if you throw yourself in front of a car.” I was fully armored, wearing every kind of pad you can possibly buy. Then, as a hill went from gentle to step, I started to fall. I went down backwards, sticking my arm out to break my fall. I did, but it also broke my wrist and dislocated my elbow.

In the hospital, the doctor realized that the blood was not flowing to my wrist, so he had to operate, opening up the fascia between the muscles, and leaving me with that scar. Instead of stitches, he basically used a roll of wire to close it up. My friend Mo was so far ahead of my on the path, she had to call me on my cell-phone to find out what happened, as I lay there in the grass.

Patrick at 8, zipping around like a mad 8-year-old on a mini-bike, hits a pothole. He goes head-over-heals, sailing over the handlebars and does a superman slide for ten yards across pavement and gravel.
His mom decided a hospital trip would be overkill: “There’s nothing to stitch,” she said. Instead she wrapped it with bandages and bactine.

Kim reports that she was out on her motorcycle, riding the roads of Virginia, when this [*&^E] guy cut her off on a left-hand turn. He caused her to fall, and the foot brake punctured her jeans and leg.

Jesse reports that he was not only playing baseball, he was playing it in “superstar” mode. At the time, he was nine years old. He dove, making a spectacular diving, floating, parallel to the ground catch. Meanwhile, a long stick that was about in inch in diameter, lay in the grass waiting. The result of the play was the ball safely caught, and the stick buried three inches deep in Jesse’s leg.
His mother heard his cries from, like a block away, and thought it was the eleven-year-old neighbor girl screaming again. His father ran up, pulled out the stick and tossed it away. The dog, thinking they were playing fetch, grabbed the offending stick and ran around with it.