Stories part 2 (aka The Scissor Story)

If you didn’t read part 1, you can read it here. You don’t need part 1 to read this one, but if you want extra story-time, it’s available.

I was in first grade. So, as a warning, you get to deal with a six-year-old’s point of view and my 20+ year memory.

At the time, I lived in California, going to an okay school. This was around winter, as our craft for the day was making cardboard snowmen. But, the kid scissors didn’t do anything to thick cardboard. The teacher, not the most experienced, if I recall, gave all of us adult scissors.

There I was, at my group table, cutting cardboard. Next to me was a boy, who we’ll call Nick. Next to Nick there was another boy, who we’ll call Aaron. Aaron was a strange child. He was different, but I paid no attention to differences. He was just a kid, after all. However, on that day, as we were crafting, he was just staring at his scissors. A couple minutes pass by before he grabs Nick’s right ear and starts cutting it off with the scissors.

The next hour is a blur, honestly. Nick screaming. Blood. Too-stunned-to-move students. The teacher freaking out. Did my mom pick me up that day, after the incident? I’m pretty sure she did.

I never saw Aaron again. I saw Nick a month, maybe a month and a half later.

And ever since, I have been freaked out whenever I see children with scissors. From preschool to high school, kid scissors or adult. It doesn’t matter. Seeing even a preteen with kid scissors get me feeling fearful. My heart races, I sweat, and I have the instinct to have my hands near my ears.

Here’s the thing, though: I decided to do a little research into this moment. I can’t find a single thing on it. I was able to find my yearbook online, with who Aaron and Nick were. And even looking them up, I couldn’t find anything on them, either. I didn’t want to present this moment without doing some basic research into it. But what if there’s no record to support something I remember definitely happening?

I remember this moment. I remember the kids in my class. I have that fear. But the absence of records worry my memory. Did I imagine this, or do the records just not exist? I don’t know. All I have is my memory of this moment, which I remember to this day.

Another reason I prefer not to have my stories shared without my permission.

I simply wanted to share ‘the scissor story’. Then it turned into philosophy.

Do a little research, and if you can’t find anything, let others be aware of it.

And, seriously, don’t mess with scissors. Even if you do not intend to cut someone’s ear off, playing with scissors can injure you or others.

Hugs and Apologies



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