The Tale of the Scar On My Chin

All the cool kids have a scar on their chin

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Sometimes I wonder if my parents wanted me dead. Why else would you buy a fifteen-year-old a motorcycle?

Perhaps because I asked for one, and they loved me and said yeah kid wants a motorbike they can’t be that dangerous, can they? I got it for my fifteenth birthday. Three days before my birthday, when the bike was already purchased but hidden in a neighbor’s garage, I broke my fucking leg in goddamn stupid junior high gym class. As I was in pain in the hospital my mom spilled the beans to try to make me feel better.

“You’re going to hate this,” she said. “We got you a motorcycle for your birthday.” She was right. I didn’t know what to feel: Elated over getting a bike, or devastated that it was mid-June and I’d have to wait a couple of months before I could ride the fucking thing? And summers are short in Calgary.

I was watching Ender’s Game this past weekend and Harrison Ford’s chin scar from a youthful car accident seemed more visible than usual. Seeing it reminded me of one of my dirt biking escapades. Once, while out riding said bike, I found a dead body. That one left some emotional scars, but this ride resulted in a more visible legacy. Here’s a pic:

Dick move alert! Last week I mentioned that if it said “for paying subscribers” at the top and you weren’t one, you’d be prompted to …