Not exactly the post you would expect after such a long silence but it is one that I have been thinking about sharing each time I look down at my own hand. Time for a little honesty now- I have been homesick a lot lately. Yes over the years it has come and I know it will continue to come- however this time it has lasted a whole lot longer than usual and I have felt it in a different way than in the past. So maybe that is why this scar is so often on my mind- well it is always on my hand so not far from any quick glance down..
This one was a simple one. A wound I never would have expected to turn into a scar. While I was home last October/November I spent time working in the shop with my dad as I always do- especially during the month of November. On one of my last days in the shop I had just finished filling a box with hamburger I had stuffed off the stuffer and went to carry it out to the new freezer in that back as I had done dozens of times that day. This trip as I was closing the freezer door my hand happen to run along a piece of metal that was hanging loose. It just scraped of the top layer of skin. I think because the freezer is so cold it took some time for it to actually bleed. I walked in the back door to find my dad working away at his table as he so often is and showed him this extremely white line on my hand. Eventually it bled a little and scabbed over and I thought within a few weeks it would be gone. Now 7 months later it is still there on my hand.
Yes I know- you are asking why I am sharing this with you- we all have scars and the way this one happened is not even interesting. No big lead up, no scary circumstances, no funny story- so why?
Well everytime I look down at my hand I see myself walking into the back door of the shop and finding my dad at his table- knife in hand, working hard, taking a small break to turn away and look at my hand and laugh with me and then get back to work while still talking through it all.
I cannot tell you how many mornings I have gotten up early to stand at the table next to my dad by 5am and work together. Now at 5am you will find him ready to talk and me ready to work and just listen. by 6-7am I will join in the talking. Thankfully over the past few years my hours have changed slightly so that I don't start before 7 or 8 but you will still find us working at tables not too far from each other. In this building, THE SHOP as we will always call it, is where my dad and I have the majority of our conversations. Many of you who stop in there have the same. "Come on back and talk to me- I gotta keep working or Greg will hell at me" you will often hear him say. So we come back and stand and talk. Now that our house is no longer right next to the shop but up behind the shop we come down and enter through the back door- the door at my dad's table and as we enter he will have some crazy greeting or quick advice to give or an errand he needs us to run.
As I am far away and missing home- missing my dad- I look down often at my hand. Whether trying to see the scar or not- it is there in plain view and as I see it I see dad through the back door working at his table. A very clear picture in my mind and the sound of his voice in my ears.
I like this scar- and need the feeling it brings.
