It's been years since my thirteenth birthday. More years since than before, actually. And I can still see that scar on my leg. A short line and three points where the stitches were, reminding me of this story every time I see it.
And sometimes, when I have the time to let my mind wander, I hope that someday I'll be lucky enough to have a son of my own. I'll tell him this story, I think. When he's twelve and looking at me like I'm the oldest thing on the planet. I'll tell him this story and hopefully he'll understand when I search him for knives and lock him in his room to learn his Torah portion.
What stories do your scars tell?