Have we ever discussed my righthand pinky finger before? I don't believe so.
It's rather ugly. Kind of mangled. Sort of hookish. Has two knuckles.
It blame physical education for it. I wasn't even properly partaking (I never really did) and it evolved into a rather disastrous occasion. I was just minding my own business, contemplating lunch and why toast always seems slightly browner on one side when I fell over my own foot. Everyone started laughing, there goes Lydia falling over without reason. Then everyone stopped laughing, up I stood with the top half of my pinky pointing in a direction pinkies should never point, to the side.
I hid it behind my back and darted for the office. Sonya the irritatingly calm office lady asked me if she could see so I covered my eyes and proceeded to shove my unsightly extremity in her line of vision. She quickly sent me to the health nurse. The health nurse told me I'd be fine. She then sent me to my mother. My Mother assured me I would not be. She ordered x-rays for the next morning and before I knew it I was headed for surgery on what Dr. Galley (Or as I like to call him, Butcher face) would later tell me was the most unforgiving joint in my body. He popped some metal in it. I had hand therapy for 9 months with the most wonderful hand therapist (who's wedding I attended and promptly was one of the first to be informed that she was with child.) and then another surgery and then was informed "Sorry, the joint is completely deformed. The next step would be amputation as you're going to get severe early onset arthritis"
I managed to break my finger in three places and rotate my bone, cost the government several thousand dollars and cry in front of numerous doctors over what would seem like spilt milk.
We're going somewhere with this-trust me.
My point is this. Well actually, several points could be extracted.
1. Don't contemplate life's most harrowing questions (When lightning strikes the ocean, why don't all the fish die? Why is toast slightly browner on one side? etc etc.) during a PE lesson
2. Don't go to said PE lesson. It'll only end in tears. People who jog and enjoy it are never going to be on the same wavelength as someone who considers their lunch half the day and dinner the other half.
3. Sometimes the things that break and get complicated and hurt and require multiple minor surgeries are the things the make us who we are. I'm never without a fact when it comes to those awkward meeting people and saying something strange games you play. I'm never without conversation and I pride myself on being able to make other feel comfortable when they see quite how ridiculous I am.
The things that make us cry in front of doctors make us who we are in the long term. We're make up of our baby sized tragedies turning to victories. Whether it's a healing of a wound or simply overcoming and accepting, it's something to be celebrated. Your scars remind you of who you are, learn to love them because who you are is rather breathtaking if I say so myself. Kiss your little pinky.