Today I cut myself with scissors for the first time. I've cut myself with a nife, stabbed myself with a box cutter at work (not seriously), sewn through a finger but never cut myself with scissors.
I've alwasy been extra careful with scissors. When I was a kid my older sister coerced me into the hall closset to cut my fingernails with a dull pair of scissors. I was three and since we are ten and half months appart, there is a good chance she was also three. I don't remember the a lot of what happened but I do remember screaming my head off and mother throwing open the door. There was lots of blood and some pain, but I think it was the blood the scared me more than anything.
While my mother yelled at both of us-- my sister for cutting my finger nails and me for letting her-- her words impacted me more. They always did because I would collect mistakes, totting them around with me for years. My life mantra could be, "I'm not good enough, let me count the ways, starting with when I was two."
The result has been a lifetime of low self-esteem and carefull scissor use (amung other things.) My sister has a very different temperment and the next week she was back in the closet with our younger sister and a pair of scissors.
Mariel R. is an ESL teacher, horse trainer, writer, editor, sporadic blogger, and lover of beer. She lives in South Korea with two cats, three horses, a German Shepherd and 17 chickens.
Bear (Gom in Korean) then (above) now (below)
Geumbi (Goldy in English) R.I.P February, 23, 2018