I always thought scars were ugly, but they tell little stories about a person. Most of my scars were from careless playground accidents pretending to be an adventurer scouring the deep depths of a jungle or a princess in distress in a castle. Aside from those incidents, there was one scar that did not have a heroic playground story attached to it. Although it was a tough lesson learned, it was one that I would always remember. 

It was a warm summer evening, and my parents had promised a surprise for my little eight year old sister. On the living room couch was a brand new blue and silver Razor scooter. She had been begging for one for weeks, and I was just as ecstatic as she was. After a long dinner that evening, we both dashed to the living room to open the new toy. I watched anxiously as she settled in the middle of the dimly lit room and started to tear apart the cardboard packaging of the contraption. “I call first ride!” I shouted. My mom shot a glare at me. “No, it’s your sister’s. You can use it if she lets you.” I immediately went sour, displeased with my mother’s words. Being the jealous older sister, I felt an urge to just pry the scooter right out of my sister’s hands and run off, but I didn’t. To avoid my jealously from controlling me, I stormed upstairs and kept to myself for the rest of the night. 

A couple days had passed and I hadn’t gone near the scooter since the day we unwrapped it. The excitement had died down, and I had given up hope of ever riding the scooter. One day after dinner, my sister came into my room with a generous offer, since she could see I had been unhappy for the past few days. She granted me one ride around the neighborhood on the scooter during our family walk after dinner. I nodded eagerly and bolted down the stairs to the garage. I clumsily dragged the scooter out to the driveway with haste and basked in its silvery glory as the metal illuminated under the sunlight. I started to glide around on the slanted slope, watching in excitement as the pavement passed underneath my feet.
The sun was just about to set, and a slight summer breeze swept throughout the neighborhood. The sky looked like a watercolor canvas with the red, blue and orange bleeding into each other. I smiled at the beautiful scene, took a breath and captured the crisp air. This was going to be the best family walk ever. As we set out onto the sidewalk, I rolled ahead and took little spins, pretending I was flying as the wind sifted through my hair. The thrill was exhilarating. It felt different than being on a bike and was much easier to learn how to ride. My sister smiled with delight when she saw how happy I was. I smiled back every once in a while just to show my appreciation.
I attempted to do tricks, and started riding with my leg outstretched like a ballerina. “Look, mommy!” I shouted with glee expecting my mother to praise me. “Be careful! Watch where you’re going.” She warned me sharply as she realized that I was having a little too much fun showing off and being oblivious to my surroundings. Soon, we approached the big hill in the neighborhood and my adrenaline started rushing. Unconsciously, I started to speed up my pace.

“Don’t go too fast down the hill, or else you’ll get hurt!” I distinctively remember ignoring those exact words my mother said before I eagerly rode the scooter as fast as I could towards the hill. The breeze blew through my thick short hair and caused goosebumps on my skin. I glanced up at the vivid abstract sky, admiring how fast I was passing and in awe with the array of colors dancing around with the clouds. I had completely tuned out reality, but my mother’s words faintly floated in my mind. I snapped back into real life briefly to respond to my parents, but before I could look back down and say “Don’t worry, mom, I’ll be okay!” I was face down on the concrete with skinned knees and dirt streaks on my hands.
It took me a second to realize that it wasn’t my imagination that I had fell. All of a sudden, the beautiful sky I was looking at became little crumbles of rock and dirt on the concrete sidewalk. I felt no pain, but as I slowly tried to turn onto my side, it came to my horror as more and more blood started surfacing the grazed skin on my right knee. I just stared and pretended that it wasn’t real. My hands came to my attention, feeling tingly with heat. They were scraped with a mix of blood and dirty. I sighed nervously as my parents and sister came running down the hill. My mom screamed “I told you so! What did I just say?” Her words echoed throughout the neighborhood. I looked at my wound in disbelief, finally spilling out tears not because of pain, but because of the foolish thing I had just done. The discomfort of my now lacerated knee started to kick in the longer I looked at it and the blood didn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. My dad picked me up off the ground as my mom followed, carrying the slightly scuffed scooter.
After few more “I told you so’s” from my mother and my grandma’s bickering about scooters being dangerous, my mom cleaned the blood off my knee. After that, it was the long process of waiting for the injury to heal. I couldn’t walk for at least two weeks and was commanded to stay in bed until the injury healed, depriving me of any playtime outside. Being an injured child in the summer was the worst thing in the world. I missed the sun kissing my skin, rolling around in the luscious grass and the fresh summer breeze tangling up my hair. My wound felt like a punishment itself as I watched my neighbors play in the yards. Needless to say, I stayed off scooters after my recovery for a while and started to become a little more careful with what I did.
I like to think of scars being permanent, but positive reminders of our mistakes. I used to brush the incident off as just another childhood mishap, but as I grew older, the scar became more of a lesson rather than just a mark on my skin. I wasn’t careful and disregarded warnings and the dangers. I let myself slip. At the time, I might’ve had my parents to warn me, but as I get older and go out on my own, I had to fend for myself. This scar will forever remind me to be careful on those steep hills of life, not get distracted or lose myself. If I get hurt on the way down, I’ll have to pick myself back up and keep going.