Black Eye Pride

The other night while I was at Maggie Moo’s with some of my youth group girls, as I walked to the trash can to throw away my ice cream cup, I noticed a young boy about 8 or 9 sitting at the table with his mom.  One eye was severely swollen and bruised and had a piece of tape covering a nasty cut underneath it that may have had stitches.

“Wow, that’s quite a battle scar you’ve got there!” I said admiringly.

He beamed, the tears that surely accompanied the hit forgotten. “Yep!”

“How did you get it?” I asked.

“I got hit with a baseball!” He squinted up at me, with the one eye nearly swollen shut, the other a bright clear blue, alive with excitement. He dug his spoon into his chocolate ice cream with sprinkles as happy and colorful as he was.

“That’s awesome!” I said. “Did you get a home run?”

He shook his head. “Nope. But I got this!”

And this will probably be far more memorable to him than any home run.

After all, scars sometimes make better stories than successes.

Published in: on April 22, 2014 at 9:44 pm  Leave a Comment  
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