Scars

My husband has a student named Rastiana. Half of her face is melted from a fire. She's a lovely girl who started out very shy but now has a gaggle of girl pals and is enjoying school. I met her when I visited his school and after a few minutes you do not see her scar. I've been thinking about this and scars and what they mean. I was punished for all of the scars on myself and our house as a child. I remember when played baseball in the front yard. My first hit of the ball went straight up and cracked the skylight of my mother's art studio above the garage. She replaced it but was still angry. All of my mistakes were never forgotten. They went on my permanent record. My parents were like bad employers. We always had to look busy or we'd be given a task. So I hid in my basement studio and bedroom until I ran away from home.