I’ve always had small hands. Soft small hands. People have used them to try to emasculate me, or point out how little work I do and how easy I’ve had it in life. This is likely why I decided the scar, whose origin is a mystery to me, on my index knuckle of my right hand would be known as a fight scar. Throughout much of my early high school life, I would tell people that noticed it that I had split my knuckle on the forehead of a bully pushing around my girlfriend. Not only had I never been in a fight, I had never had a girlfriend. It was an odd defense mechanism, but I wasn’t content with having a scar, and not having a cool story to go with it. Otherwise, it would simply have been an abomination of my flesh, and that was useless to me.