“What is that on my belly, Mom?” 5-year-old me asked.
“It is a gift from God” My mom said with a serious face and kissed my cheek.
In my 5-year-old mind, I saw it as a line-shaped thing, without any sense of what it really was. Naïve as it sounds, it was only natural for me to assume everyone had it on their belly. But this false perception didn’t last very long.
There were not many things better than watching television for the curious mind of a now 6-year-old child. Homework just could not compete with a television show, as there were no funny characters or hilarious one-liners in my homework assignments. Referred to as the “vision terminator’’ by my mom, television time was made into a rarity in my childhood.
It may be assumed that my mom is a tiger-mom. But she is just a normal housewife with a genuine concerns about her son’s eyes. Whenever I had television time, my eyes were glued onto the wonderful world of entertainment provided by the screen. One day, a character was struggling in the water, close to being drowned. A tall and sturdy man suddenly appeared and removed his clothes to jump into the water in a heroic and memorable action to save the guy. Indeed, the hero saved the fictional character and relieved the audiences’ anxious minds. But my perception of reality was shattered by this heroic save.
“Why is there no long line on the belly of that hero?’’ 6-year-old me asked.
“It is a unique feature for you, you are a unique boy.’’ My mom said without looking at me.
As an egotistic 6-year-old boy, I read many comic books where the superheroes always had unique features. For instance, there was tattoo-like drawings on the belly of a very famous character Naruto Uzumaki from Naruto. There was a strong power trapped inside his 'tattoo'. It was easy for a 6-year-old boy to think that I had something special and unique inside my body. The exciting question “was I the chosen one to save the world?” dwelled in my young mind until for a while until I had a special lesson in primary school.
I was not an athletic kid. But ‘not athletic’ isn't an appropriate description to capture my physical attributes during my childhood. 'Clumsy and slow' are better alternatives. I was always last in any race and was not particularly perceptive of the trajectory of any kind of ball.
Physical Education class always involved exciting ball games while some bystanders watched the game including me and several of my friends. “There is a swimming lesson next week, please bring your swimming goggles, swimming caps, swimming pants, and $5 for a locker.” my PE teacher said. I was very excited to have a swimming lesson as there was a glimmer of hope that I might be good at one physical activity.
The weather was nice and sunny on the morning of the swimming lesson. I was jumping up and down clumsily at home, unable to hide the excitement of having my first swimming lesson. Little did I know the lesson would become one of the most memorable experiences in my life. I removed all my clothes and wore only my swimming goggles, swimming cap, swimming pants like my other male classmates. Suddenly my best friend pointed at the thing on my belly.
“Why is there an ugly scar on your belly?” he said.
Beautiful words can heal a boy’s soul. But words can also leave a permanent scar on a boy’s mind.
With an unusually high-level of emotional intelligence for a 6-year-old boy, I somehow controlled my anger and instantly pretended to be sick, asking my PE teacher to take an early leave.
“Why do I have an ugly scar on my belly?” I blurted out upon my first step into my house.
This time my mom looked at me aghast, without any words.
The television was on. And a character’s voice in the drama filled the deadly silence in our dining room.
“You are too lazy to be a detective! You treat this evidence like it is nothing.” The character shouted.
“You teach me nothing!” The younger character retorted.
While I was wondering why the hairstyle of the younger character looked so weird, my mom’s voice sounded like a third character for the TV drama.
“It is a scar……on your belly.” My mom looking at me intensely.
“From a major operation …when you were 2-months-old.” My mom’s voice became deeper like never before.
“And the survival chance was only 20%...” My mom’s voice cracked right after the end of the sentence.
On the television screen, the next scene showed an awkward dinner between the two actors. The next scene was in the dining room of the real world where a scrawny kid hugged his teary mom tightly.
The level of my ineptitude in any kind of sport is positively correlated with my natural ability in math. As a primary one student, I already knew 20% was a very low probability, lower than a winning a coin toss. But my childish mind took little weight to many things. I didn’t know why we needed to line up in the playground for a morning assembly; I didn’t know why we needed to raise our hands to ask teachers questions in a class. I was told to do these things while seldom really thinking about the reasons behind them.
In my 6-year-old mind, it became well established that I had a long line of scars after a big operation I had when I was very young. And it was very cool that I survived this when the odds were stacked against me. And it would be easy to wear a full coverage swimsuit whenever there would be swimming lessons in the future.
Scars generally represent the full healing of a wound, representing a biological victory for the owner. But my scar is a little bit different – it is a constant reminder for me to live my life to the fullest.