Scarring

When walking home from high school, I had a pair of sunglasses in my pocket (I don't know why I was not wearing them, maybe it wasn't sunny) and my arm brushed against the corner of them, and I got a cut.  It didn't bleed much.  There was nothing really noteworthy of the event apart from it left a small think scar.  I still have it.  I always will.  I've cut myself many times worse than that, but that one scarred.  I'm not sure why.

At lunch today, I read a blog that talked about words that stayed with you.  Hurtful words.  Some of the words were not intended to have long term effects, but they did.  Or should I say they do.

I got to thinking about the words that surround me.  According to wiki.answers, adults speak an average of about 16,000 words per day.  They participate in an average of about 1270 conversations.  That is a lot of words, and a lot of conversations.  For the most part, the words don't make a lasting impression.  But others stick with me.  Some of these words are positive.  Some are negative.  And I've been thinking of some of the words that have truly stayed with me.

I remember in 8th grade, the stinging words of a teacher, my teacher telling me I shouldn't think about going to college because I wasn't smart enough but I was very good with children so I think about working in childcare.  I remember the feeling of fury over being told that.  Of swearing to myself I would go to and graduate from college.  I did.  And I remember the irony and glee I felt when I ran into the mother of my classmate from that year.  This classmate always had the highest grade on every test.  We were always told how smart she was.  I was visiting my family on the 4th of July, waiting for fireworks to start.  Classmate's mom walked by.  Stated how classmate was going to graduate that December in a challenging field.  I asked what.  My field.  The exact degree I had received two years earlier.  Classmate mom then asked me what I did.  I very happily stated my job.  Classmate's mom tried to say I was an aide or an assistance (which there is nothing wrong with those jobs, just they are/were not my job).  I corrected her politely.  She said there was no way I could have graduated with a degree in that, much less before her daughter did.  She then walked away.  My mom laughed and complimented me that I acted so mature.  Then she laughed some more and said it felt so good for her to hear that conversation but knew it must have felt better for me.  Both my teacher's and my classmate's mom's words scarred into me and my sense of ability and accomplishment than most comments on tests, papers, and formal job evaluations.

I remember one night after swim practice my freshman year, my coach saying to me if I put in as much effort and determination into my career as I did into swimming, I would excel.  And I still get a warm feeling when I think about the compliment.  I doubt if she remembers making the specific comment that night.  But I do.

I remember the day my dad got his terminal diagnosis of cancer.  I was at work.  Long story short, everyone in the room including some people that we shared a break room with but nothing else, knew from the look on my face what had just happened in my phone conversation.  Everyone but my boss.  She made the comment, "I've been trying so hard to not know you, I had no idea what was happening."  I think about this comment a good bit because it is my only clear recollections of spoken words that day.  I don't remember what was said or how it was said in the phone conversation with my dad.  I don't remember how I told Jett that evening.  I don't remember what I said to my 12 year old brother that was visiting us (I know I didn't tell him specifically of the diagnosis, but he knew Dad was going to the doctor, and he must have asked something, and I must have responded).  I'm assuming my co-workers said words of sympathy.  But I don't remember any of them, I remember the hug that a co-worker whose mother was diagnosis with breast cancer 2 days earlier before I even had a chance to open my mouth.  I remember another co-worker who carried most of the weight of my job for the rest of the day.  But it bothers me that the only words that I remember were that of my boss telling me she had been trying to not get to know me.  That should not have been a statement that was worthy of being remembered from that day, or week really.  Why were those the words that were scarred into my brain?

My sister and I talk a lot.  She knows that I would love to have another child.  Last summer, she made a comment, a single comment, that has caused me to not bring up that hope with her.  I doubt I will again, or at least not until she is in a different place.  She said "With all the problems you have with Obsidian (referring to his medical mystery issues) and not as much with Pyrope (referring to his speech and social issues), it is probably best you don't have another."  The words instantly cut.  I knew it was a deep cut.  One that would scar.  One that would alter what I say to her.  She did not mean the words to be mean or vindictive.  More of just a statement.  I have wanted to write a blog entry about the statement, but I can't.  Not yet.  At the same time, it was the comment that really gave me a push to start blogging.  More of a place for me to write and try to figure out what I'm thinking and feeling more than anything else.

Other scarring words bring a smile to my face.  "Is this the house?" Was asked to me and my sister while we were standing in our front yard, by a man dressed in an immaculate black suit, peering over the top of his very dark sunglasses, sitting next to another man dressed in a black suit, driving a black minivan hertz an hour after our dad passed away.  It felt like it should be a scene in a movie.  Not asking us if it was the residence of our surname, or our address, or something along those lines but "Is this the house?"  My sister and I looked at each other on the spot and laughed.  We then said in all seriousness "We hope so."  (At that point, on our street, there was a lady in very poor health, one "normal" house, our house, one "normal" house, then a house with another man on hospice.  We sincerely were hoping that there were not two deaths on the street that afternoon (there weren't).  I do remember parts of conversations with others from that day, but "Is this the house?" is always right up there.

I worked at a residential summer camp for 4 summers.  One of the two comments that specifically stay with me from that experience, was by a camper, who I don't remember her name, that said her favorite part of the week was when she did something that she didn't think she could do but I said we were going to do it, and we did.  I wonder if she still remembers sleeping outside all night...

Some of the more obvious words, I understand why they stayed with me.  I struggle to figure out why some comments that I should have just let roll off of me, scar so deeply.  I wonder why some words have been forgotten.

And I resolve to think at least twice before I speak.  I don't know which of my 16,000 words I speak each day will scar.  And I know even less if that scar will be good or bad.