Scars usually have a story, don’t they? Some good, some bad, some happy accidents, and some heart-breaking stories. If you’re ever spent any time around me, invariably, I’ll utter the words, “Keep digging.” The following is the origin story of my scar on my left calf and my tattoo that's above it. It was a summer day of my senior year in high school in 1994. I was having a blast with my new mountain bike in the summer sun. Up until I was miles away from my home. I jumped the bike off the sidewalk and in a downhill direction. As I landed, the plastic pedals shattered, and my legs jarred the asphalt hard as my groin slammed into the bracing bar. As I grappled for control of my bike, I crashed hard into a faded mustard yellow Ford Pinto. Without a helmet or any other protective gear, I blacked out on impact. When I was conscious again, I startled myself again with questions I couldn’t possibly answer. What happened? How long was I out? What am I gonna do now? Af...
My observations and thoughts while being a passenger on Spaceship Earth