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.
M.R. Jordan is a writer, editor, sporadic blogger, and lover of beer. Lives in South Korea with her two cats, Bear and Geumbi.
Bear (Gom in Korean) then (above) now (below)
Geumbi (Gold in English)... then (above) and now (below).