Not many childhood memories remain indelible in my mind--most are fleeting, emphemeral images linked by association rather than events. However, one poignant memory resurfaced. It was uprooted from an earthy grave, and meticulously brushed to remove any dirt that Time left. The image slowly unraveled itself.
I was five. He was approaching death.
I was exposed to the sandbox and chicken pox. He was exposed to Vietnam and Agent Orange.
Not that I was aware of these things at the time. And, with the naiivety expected of a five year old, I wanted to compare scars.
I pointed to a tiny, white, smooth and dainty scar on my knee. I told him that I fell off a bike. Then, I displayed another one on my elbow, from tripping in sand.
My uncle's face contracted into a grin, deep wise wrinkles grinning too, spanning and cutting across hardened rock. He motioned to his thigh. My face must have lit up with innocent awe. An almost grotesque, gnarled and misshapen brown welt snaked down his leg. Several others marred his arms and calves too, giving the impression of textured bark of a tree.
I smiled and laughed in honest childlike fascination.
My uncle must have continued to smile as I traipsed to some other whim. I realize now that he didn't tell me how he got those scars.
I figure my mind saved that moment so that I can analyze it now, with the careful, probing fingers of an archaelogist, tracing lines and data to be used in some historical textbook later on.
I was five. He was approaching death.
I was exposed to the sandbox and chicken pox. He was exposed to Vietnam and Agent Orange.
Not that I was aware of these things at the time. And, with the naiivety expected of a five year old, I wanted to compare scars.
I pointed to a tiny, white, smooth and dainty scar on my knee. I told him that I fell off a bike. Then, I displayed another one on my elbow, from tripping in sand.
My uncle's face contracted into a grin, deep wise wrinkles grinning too, spanning and cutting across hardened rock. He motioned to his thigh. My face must have lit up with innocent awe. An almost grotesque, gnarled and misshapen brown welt snaked down his leg. Several others marred his arms and calves too, giving the impression of textured bark of a tree.
I smiled and laughed in honest childlike fascination.
My uncle must have continued to smile as I traipsed to some other whim. I realize now that he didn't tell me how he got those scars.
I figure my mind saved that moment so that I can analyze it now, with the careful, probing fingers of an archaelogist, tracing lines and data to be used in some historical textbook later on.
