Every time I meet someone knew, I am asked the same question once people take a good look at my face, how did you get that? Get what? I always ask; That scar above your right eye, must be a cool story. It really is not, but I tell the story anyway: When I was two and at my sister's Christening, everyone was leaving because the party at my house afterwards was over. I was walking up the stairs to leave the area I was at when my dad calls for me. Time to say goodbye to your family, he said. I turned around to come back down the stairs and lost my balance. This made me tumble down the stairs and fall onto one of those umbrella stands that people use for decorations. The impact of the fall sliced my eyebrow and left me there to bleed; although I had no idea what was going on and I did not seem to cry about it. That is, until relatives started to freak out and my mom's cousin came and compressed towels on my face. That made me cry and I was rushed to the hospital in one of my family member's cars so that I could get my eye fixed. The doctors said they needed to do plastic surgery because it would look better and I would have a greater chance of going blind if they did not. The next thing I knew I was awake with stitches near my eye and I had them for quite a while after just to make sure everything was healed. And that is how I was left with this scar. It is not as prominent as it used to be but when people notice it they always ask about it; I end up telling the same story several times. It gets annoying after a while but I try not to seem agitated when people ask about it. I do not remember any of this story, but my parents have told it so many times that it has become a part of me, as if I remember almost exactly what happened. Sometimes I can replay my interpretation of what happened even though I never remembered exactly what occurred. It is as if I know what went on even though I was too young to remember anything that happened up to now. The story just stuck. I think it stuck because I am constantly reminded of this story every time I look into a mirror and see the mark left from that day. It reminds me of how clumsy I was and how one little tumble left me with something that will remind me of that forever. That story does reflect on how I am now because I am still very clumsy. I trip sometimes over my own two feet and cannot always seem to keep my balance. From time to time, I want to get rid of my scar just because I am sick of always having to tell the tale of how I got it, but some people say that is what makes me different. That they could not picture me without it, it is a part of me. This scar will be with me for the rest of my life and I will always have the story of how it happened to bring me back to my childhood. The story of my scar will never be forgotten because I will always carry the reminder with me and people will continue to ask me about it.