Emblems of war wounds...or carelessness.
Knees show signs of a Netball game on hot tarmac in Year 5, where an 11 year old, hardly sporty me takes a tumble and bloodies her knee. Never cried, which Ms. S was much impressed about. It stung, but it didn't warrant tears for me. Getting socked in the face by the basketball was probably more warranting of that.
Scars litter my knees from bygone days of my first decade where I did not know the meaning of assignments, grades, jobs, interviews, responsibilities or grown-up ness. All I knew was the outdoors, sunshine, friends and make-believe. A testament that I have no more new scars on my knees to the fact that I'm never outdoors playing rough and tumble again.
Mandatory P.E lessons should continue through adulthood.
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