Scars: Part One
I suppose I have scars and I am old enough to feel numbness where there used to be sensations. Let me remove my outer cloak of wellbeing for a moment, and I can show you some irreparable damage: This damage, unfortunately, began when I was a tiny fellow. My imagination was already excited enough by holding a guitar and toy cars from as far back as my memory goes. I had an older sister and an even older brother. We had a comfortable home to live in; and at the time, it did not occur to me that it was a very simple home, as compared to others. We had concrete floors and cinderblock walls. There was not much paint and even less décor in general. But in my earliest memories, I suppose I thought of adequacy as a form of excellency. If the house was shelter, and if it was safe, I felt it served its purpose as well as any house. We were not hungry. I do not remember ever going to bed without enough food to satisfy my needs. That, of course, is not a scar. In fact, I have not gotte...
