The Scars That Stay

Kerry Johnson

“Do you think this scar will ever heal?” Cole stared down at the one-inch jag of bumpy skin on the top of his right foot.

“It’s healed. It’s just a scar. It’ll go away as your foot grows. It’ll probably be mostly faded by the time you’re a teenager.”

The memory of Cole getting the scar six plus years ago came back like a flash of lightning over the Gulf. My sister, our three boys, and I ventured out to Ft. Myers Beach on a muggy summer afternoon. We built sand castles, barely avoided gray-blue water walls of summer’s flash storms, licked melting ice cream, and enjoyed watching our youngsters run around like bathing-suit clad wild men, wrestling and digging in the cooled-off sand and shells underneath the setting sun.

During one of the last playful jaunts around the sand playground that evening, four-year old Cole let out a yelp, hobbling in my direction. Trickles of crimson streaked down his foot.

I rushed toward him…

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