Facts About Sean Explained: Battle Scar

286. I learned how to dub movies when I was 12. I used to rent 3-4 movies a week from Blockbuster Video and make copies for my brother and his friends

161. The scar under my right eye is from a bike accident I got into when I was 13.

I don’t remember how I learned how to dub movies.  If I remember correctly, I think one of my cousins dubbed tapes but didn’t necessarily tell me how to do it.  I went home and, when my mother was out, took her VCR and the one in the den and figured out how to connect them.  Once I dubbed a couple of movies, I showed my brother my handiwork (I frequently did bad things and went to my brother for some sort of validation).   I had the know-how.  He had the Blockbuster membership.  It was on.

Almost every Saturday morning in the summer, I would get on my bicycle at 9:30 AM and ride to the local Blockbuster video with my brother’s membership card. For some reason, I wanted to get there when they opened at 10 AM.  I’d rent two or three movies (either whatever was new or something my brother requested), ride back home, copy them and return them by the next day.  I may have copied 60-75 movies for myself and others between the ages of 12-16.

One Saturday, I left in the middle of the afternoon for Blockbuster run. I rode my bike on the sidewalk which, in retrospect, was stupid but I’d been hit by two cars in my life so I was always a little skittish about riding my bike in the street.  I don’t think I was riding my bicycle that fast but, out of nowhere, this guy stepped out from behind a building. I hit the brakes but squeezed the front brake first so my body learned forward and my face collided with his head. I flew over my handlebars and landed on my back.  I got up a little stunned.  The guy was holding his head but was more injured than angry.  Looking down, I could see my glasses frame on the ground and then noted that I was able to see with my right eye.  My right lens was stuck on my face.  I gathered my bike, reassembled my glasses and kept riding.

My hands were greasy from putting the chain back on my bike so I stopped at Pizza Hut to wash my hands.   I went to the counter and asked where the bathroom was.  The guy behind the counter had a very concerned look on his face.  He pointed to the back and asked if I needed some tissues.  He handed me a HUGE wad and I went to the bathroom. I finally got a good look at my face.  There was a huge gash and blood trickling down the right side of my face.  i didn’t notice because still in shock from the crash.  All I could think was, “My parents are gonna kill me” (my father would get particularly annoyed when I rode my bicycle to Blockbuster and the mall because I had gotten my bicycle stolen once and he had to retrieve it – another story)  I washed my hands and my face and used the tissues to cover the huge cut on my face.

I was so close to Blockbuster that, in my mind, it didn’t make sense to cancel the trip.  I don’t remember what I rented but I do remember avoiding eye contact with everyone in Blockbuster as if I would get in trouble.  I rode my bike home and avoided my father who was mowing the lawn.  Still thinking that my parents’ reaction would lean more towards anger than concern, I decided to try and cover up my injury.  I found some gauze in bathroom and taped it to my face and went to bed…at 5 PM on a Saturday.  If someone came to my room, I said I was tired.  When it was time for dinner, I stayed in bed.  When everyone went to their respective corners (My mother: her room; my father: the den; my brother: his room), I snuck downstairs and grabbed some food.

The next day, I played off my cut like it was an accident that happened yesterday.  I think I said I hit my face on the edge of a cupboard.  No one was particularly concerned.  Although, for some reason, a couple of the kids in the neighborhood heard about this scar I had on my face and a rumor started that I had gotten in a fight and gotten punched in my face.  I denied it but it sounded like a better story than what had actually happened.


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