21h • From the Field
School Age Scars
Some lessons don’t arrive as thoughts. They linger as marks. Evidence.
In high school, I got caught by a patrolling dean carving the phrase “I Eat C” (crap) into a wooden desk.
In plain sight of my teacher.
An interesting crime for someone who started in the “Tottenville Institute”, a program for higher education.
Eggs thrown from a moving car filled with 16- and 17-year-olds was a thrill that lasted seconds, followed by a chase that lasted longer.
A window smashed.
A lesson learned about retaliation.
Prank calls with recorded sound bites.
Calling Santa Claus from a local pizzeria then watching him knock on a neighbor’s door while we hid and laughed.
The neighbor didn't.
A boomerang (poorly thrown) coming back exactly as advertised. Between the eyes. A scar I still see.
Picking a fight with the neighborhood bully.
Not a villain - just a bigger kid who didn’t know where to put his strength yet. Neither did I.
When it snowed, ringing every doorbell on the block. Recruiting bodies for “snow bowl” football in the park.
Following instinct. Gathering. Organizing. Pulling people into motion.
And then there was the one that never faded.
A softball buddy was out partying. Alcohol. Sleep.
He choked on his own vomit and died.
For real.
When I found out, I remember feeling the absence where a person used to be.
That’s when it quietly became clear: some consequences don’t give warnings. Some games don’t let you reset.
Youth leaves marks- physical, social, emotional.
We all carry them.
The question isn’t whether they shaped me.
They did.
The question is what we build from them.
I’m convinced that character doesn’t come from a clean past, but from scars we’re willing to study instead of hide from.
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School Age Scars
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