How to carry scars.

The other day I met a man who wanted to tell me the story of his family.  There was a good reason to why he should, and in very to the point statements he told me what they had been through.

He did not display any emotions while telling, and he spoke in a low and very controlled manner.

He ended his story by saying: “I just wanted you to know, because I want to give you the opportunity to understand my son. Scars tell the story of what you have been through, both good and bad, just like wrinkles do. I am an adult, I know this.

My son can not show you his scars; his scars are hidden in his soul.”

He rose, turned his back to me and even though he was wearing a t-shirt I could see the criss-cross of distinct stripes running down his back.

Some people just impress me by how they carry their past. Others make all kinds of excuses in order to not make the best of things. They chase the road of convenience or comfort.

Others get trapped in anger and frustration, not willing to neither forgive nor to compromise.

I learned the other day that how I react is not always the best way to react. Often my frustration is directed to the wrong address. I forget that praise should be proclaimed and criticism has only one receiver: the one it may concern.

My scars are not to be displayed, but how I carry them reflects who I am and what I am like.