I think scars are kind of neat. They’re not always the most appealing feature to look at, but they are a landmark of sorts for life events and are almost always accompanied by a story – sometimes funny, sometimes tragic. I’ve often thought that compiling a book about scar stories would be an interesting idea for profiling human interest accounts. That said, here are the tales behind the scars that line my body and have dotted my journey.
When I was just a little sipper, I was always trying to help around the house. That’s just how awesome I was. Whether it was licking cookie batter off spoons or providing my parents with a daily exercise regimen, chasing me around the park, I was always willing to lend a helping hand. At Christmas, when I was about three or four, I was trying to help Papa Sip gather some wood for a roaring fire (we didn’t have those fancy gas fireplaces in my young days).
Not being as careful as I am with things nowadays (Mrs. Sip would disagree after witnessing my balcony and bungee jumping ways) I picked up a slab of wood and when I went to boost it up with my leg going up our back porch stairs, a nail dug into my left thigh, slicing it open. It wasn’t a deep wound or anything, but it still left a wide scar. It is a constant reminder to be vigilant when helping others. The lazy guy in me just begging to get out (except that he’s so darn lazy) has told me before that this is what I get for assisting friends and family and that it’s just safer to not do so.
Well, if this isn’t a slam dunk case of boys will be boys (or kids will be stupid), I don’t know what is. When I was 7 or 8, my parents were getting together with friends of theirs. They had a son about my age, so him, myself and Broski Sip were playing in their backyard. We decided we wanted to build a haunted house – stupid, I know… it was probably May, too – and were using tools like hammers, saws and yes, even an axe. I suppose I put myself in charge of keeping things clean, wiping the stump we were chopping away at every few minutes. The OCD in me must have flared up and as I went to swipe one more bit of stray sawdust out of the way, the axe came down on the middle finger of my right hand. I almost literally gave someone the finger.
Thankfully, the weaponry was being swung by a fellow child, but the finger was sliced pretty deep. We were also in luck that one of my parent’s friends was a nurse and she was able to clean and bandage the wound sufficiently. The last bit of good news was it was a Saturday and Hockey Night in Canada was on, so once I calmed down from the shock of the whole incident, I was able to lay back and watch some stick and puck.
When I was 11, Mama Sip got really sick while we were visiting Disneyland. As much as that sucked, when we returned from our holiday, she was told that she needed to have one of her kidneys removed. She was also told her condition might be hereditary. Sure enough, it was, as I was also in need of a kidney removal (or a right nephrectomy if we want to get all scientifical). Shortly after I turned 12, I had my operation. Lucky for me, the ailment was caught so early that it has not continued to affect me.
Losing my kidney came with positives and negatives. I got a month off from school, was pampered during that time, and had a wicked scar that the ladies were surprisingly into when I returned to classes. I also went through a growth spurt once the nonfunctioning organ was eliminated. On the flip side, I had to quit playing hockey as it was hard to get insured to play once body contact started. All in all, it largely made me who I am today and I think Sip Nation would agree, in the end, that’s a good thing.
Drink #146: Rusty Nail
- 1.5 oz Drambuie
- 1.5 oz Scotch
- Garnish with a Lemon Twist
I consider myself lucky that I only have three scars and really only the kidney one is noticeable. Tell me your scar story or stories. Perhaps I’ll one day get around to publishing that work and we’ll all be famous!
Sip Advisor Bar Notes (3.5 Sips out of 5):
The first sip of this drink didn’t go over as well as I had hoped. Once I let it sit for a moment, the Scotch diluted a little thanks to the ice, which allowed the Drambuie to come through better. This resulted in the cocktail’s score jumping from 3 to 3.5.