Wearing Scars

David and I were in my room at the far end of the house. The evening had turned to night, and we were well past the 10 o'clock chime. I was 9 and David was just a few months ahead of me in age. This was the first night that both of our parents had agreed to a sleepover after one of our baseball games. We were both excited that the moment had finally arrived, and likely, the excitement was the only thing keeping us awake.

The minds of boys our age need constant challenge or entertainment. Ours had neither during this hour. When the mind does not have purpose on the doorstep, it will step out and begin exploring on its own. Speaking from many personal experiences, this is an act that you want to avoid at all costs. My parents had long gone to sleep, so David and I were left to our own imaginations for entertainment. These were the days before electronics, social media, and endless supplies of movies.

I have always had a natural desire to entertain, and I had a collection that I was sure would impress David. My family trusted me and bought me knives for birthdays, Christmas, and seizing a mark-down opportunity at the local hardware store. I had been taught how to use a knife and the appropriate time to have them out. David did not know how to use a knife, and this was certainly not the appropriate time to have them out.

You may or may not know this about me, but I am hardheaded. I am not hard to get along with, but when I have made up my mind to do something, I'm gonna do it. Even though I knew better than to show David my knife collection, I opened the drawer and revealed over 20 different brands and styles of knives. His eyes got real big as he looked them over and considered the opportunities that could be pursued.

He noticed that I had two identical Buck knives. The only difference between them was the color of their handles. He immediately formed a great idea in his mind. He decided that we should each hold one of those knives and engage in a "sword-fight" with knives. I thought that idea was completely ridiculous for 1.5 seconds and agreed to the plan by the 2nd second. Right. Left. Right. Left. Ching. Ching. Ching. The adrenaline blinded my eyesight. I was having a ball satisfying my desire to do something dangerous. This was entertainment in its truest form. Believe it or not, neither of us was hurt—not one tiny laceration.

As I unlocked the blades of each knife to return them to the drawer, I noticed something. The blades of each knife were terribly scarred. I guess they were not meant for metal-to-metal impact. How was I going to explain this if ever discovered by mom or dad? More than getting into trouble, I was mad at myself. I was mad that I was hardheaded. Look at what a little disobedience had grown into. Sure, we were not physically hurt, but I could not fix my knives, and I sure wasn't gonna ask someone else to fix them. A long-anticipated night of fun had now turned sour because of my unwillingness to heed warnings.

Thankfully, I do not wear any scars on my hands or body from this terrible decision. But I do wear those scars in my core memories. When I reflect back on that night, I am sad that I could not overcome my desire for chance and excitement when I was clearly taught better. As far as I know, I was never taught to be hardheaded; it just came naturally. Next time you want to be hardheaded and disobedient, consider that you may not be able to see all the dangers from where you are standing, but rest assured they are lurking somewhere. And, if you have someone in your life who loves you enough to warn you about these unseen dangers, be thankful for them and their love for you.