Scars

Anyone have a good scar? God knows I do…

It was a cold, blustery day at a shooting rage up in Connecticut somewhere. It must have been around mid-February, since there was a good three feet of snow on the ground (back in the days before Global Warming…). This was back in my Boy Scout days, and I was profoundly excited to be spending time with the group of close friends I still have to this day.

In any case, we all awoke on Saturday morning, ready to go outside shooting, but discovered that we’d been snowed-in. Bummer, but we made the best of it. We went outside to play man-hunt for a while, but came in soon after since it was so cold. We resolved to playing cards in front of the blazing fire that was heating the rickety cabin. Fast-forward two hours later. Playing cards for that long sucks, so we were pretty restless. During what would have been our final game of “Egyptian Rat Screw”, I was unfortunate enough to have my back to the fireplace.

So, one of my brilliant friends thought it would be a good idea to poke the fire with the iron fire-poker. He thought it would be an even better idea to heat up the tip until it practically glowed red. His crowning achievement, however, was the notion that placing the iron rod on the back right side of my neck would have some positive outcome. He was wrong.

To his (and my) surprise, I didn’t scream right away. On the contrary - I felt a mild sensation and put my hand on the back of my neck, and when I pulled my hand back, I revealed a pile of burnt, wet skin tissue resting in my fleshy palm. That’s when I screamed, and that’s when I got the scar on the back of my neck. I’m still friends with that idiot.