by Kerry Michael Wood

Created on: May 12, 2008   Last Updated: July 22, 2010

In Austria and Germany of the late 19th century, dueling scars were indicators of wealth and aristocracy. In Austrian Universities dueling societies existed for young men of prominent fashion. A facial scar was called a "Renommierschmiss" or "bragging scar." It was common for young men who had not ever dueled to inflict facial wounds on one cheek or hire surgeons to create such scars. Procedures too ugly to go into were performed to delay healing and ensure a pronounced keloid scar to make the women swoon.

Today a scar is usually considered a disfigurement, an unfortunate blemish, or a reminder of a painful experience. The connotation of the word is definitely unpleasant and negative. My attitude toward my body's numerous wound is different. I don't consider them adornments. I would never consider a tattoo, but I think of my scars as illustrations and reminders of times, places, and events. They make my epidermis into a sort of scrapbook or photo album.

A constellation of small pink markings on my thigh, almost invisible now with the passage of so many decades, reminds me of the first extended trip I took with my parents when I was eight years old. We were visiting relatives in Walla Walla. The summer day was a scorcher so my parents took my brother and me to Kooskooskie Creek to frolic in its chilly waters. I fell while trying to cross the stream on a fallen log. Fragments of bark embedded themselves in my thigh. I remember a doctor coming to the house of my great uncle to extract the foreign bodies and my mother telling me to "be a soldier" and not to cry or complain. Surely there must have been pain, but I remember only the excitement of traveling in Old Betsy, the dirty blue '38 Plymouth, the coolness of the creek and its odd Indian name, and my first meeting with Great-Uncle Steve and Great-Aunt Edna.

The shiny epithelial patch on one ankle transports me to warmer waters. The summer of my junior year in high school, I spent a month or so in St. Thomas, Virgin Islands, with the family of a friend. Bill's Dad worked for a company that was building a high school on the island. Bill and I skin dived and spearfished every single day. The minor wound on my ankle came from an abrasion of coral. It was a shallow scratch but something like slime from the coral prevented rapid healing and left me with a bodily souvenir of yet another exciting adventure trip.

The decorative tracery on my right knee is Turkish stitchery. I had the meniscus removed during my stint

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>