Thursday, March 13, 2008

on being young and having perfect vision

i would wish horrible things upon myself as a kid. i dont know why, probably for lack of attention i presume. the irony, of course, is that 'd already been blessed with a pretty shitty childhood. i guess the grass is always greener.

i didnt really want pain to be inflicted on me. no. im no masochist. well, not through and through anyway. but i wanted the bruises. i wanted the tales of suffering. i wanted to be able to say, yeah, that happened to me, or yeah, i went through that. mind you, this was all when i was just reaching the age where i understood one could go through disasters and still live. the thing was, i thought all the kids did it. it wasnt because i wanted the hurt, it was because i wanted to be cool.

it didnt even have to involve pain, it could just be some stroke of discomfort. an ailment. a handicap. some flaw i could point at as a source for all my ills.

i wanted to get tonsillitis so id have to get my tonsils out. i wanted my eye site to go bad so id need to get glasses. i wanted braces. i wanted a cast. i wanted to break a bone so that i'd have to walk on crutches. i wanted to be hit by a car. i wanted stitches, and i wanted the scar it left.

some of these desires actually came to fruition. when i was seven years old i was indeed hit by a car. unfortunately, i didnt break any bones, just bruised a few ribs, but i got to take a few days off of school and when i got back into class all the kids wanted to know what it had felt like. im sure i exaggerated when i didnt need to. i mean, i was slammed by a huge Lincoln cruiser with four doors and enough trunk space to stuff a deer. i flew about 15 ft upon impact. i had to be escorted to the emergency room in an ambulance. i even had a scar on my stomach where the skin had split. but i imagine the temptation was too much to resist. i bet i added that, while in the air, i flipped a few times. im sure instead of "bruised" ribs the entire cage had been "fractured." i could promise that the scar on my stomach was poked and probed, and while i let the other kids admire it i beamed in pride.

truth is: i got hit. i flew. i had a few bruises. but i was fine. for a seven year old, my body was pretty tough.

i never broke any bones, but i did twist my ankle. that wasnt the same and, unsurprisingly, i didnt get much satisfaction from it.

i've also had a mysterious scar on my chin where, if memory serves correctly, i was told i had stitches. i dont remember getting them, nor do i remember why i had to get them, but you can guarantee that i bragged about it to everyone i knew, contorting my chin this way and that so others could get a closer inspection and, when finally locating the tiny blemish, adorn me with ooohs and ahhhs.

later on in life, when i finally recognized how miserable things can be, i grew an aversion to such wounds and disfigurements. i learned not to idealize these blights and misfortunes. i didnt need to. i still carry some of the scars with me, i dont show them off though. i dont wear them like tattoos or jewelry. they are just there to remind me, ironically enough, of a more innocent time. when i think of it, its all very typical. whatever.


also i have to add that i hate yesterdays post. i cant believe i wrote about Justice at the MSG theater and didnt mention how every song sounded the same or their set up looked puny and laughable on the large stage or how i saw a rick james impersonator taking a picture with some teenage white girl that was wearing a bandana. oh well, guess thats what happens when i post while drunk.


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:gray matters: by jkg is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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