how did you get that scar on your elbow?

how one of the scariest days of my life taught me about love

By Marco Bianchetti

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw headlights flash and heard an engine rev. A silver sedan shot out of the darkness, bounced over a curb and onto the sidewalk, inches from hitting me, then slammed on the brakes. 

The driver-side door opened.

I bolted.

---

It began as a warm August night. The sun had decided to disappear early, as an indifferent pale blue stretched across the sky. Sticky heat gave way to a cool breeze that signaled the end of summer was near. 

I was 13 years old. 

Just about to start high school and feeling pompously mature after leaving behind the juvenile confines of elementary school.

I was also nearing the start of a new hockey season. This particular evening, my team was having a party. Players and parents all communed to get to know each other and bond before we launched into the dizzying intensity of minor hockey. Our get-together was hosted at a family’s home on the East side of Toronto. A rougher area where the cars were almost as beaten down as the people and front lawns were almost as patchy as paychecks.

The evening was going well. 

The parents chatted upstairs while the team wrestled on the grass, played basketball in the driveway, and crowded onto couches to watch Blue Mountain State (a show about college athletes partying, completely inappropriate for us). 

But, at some point in the evening, a few of the guys got bored. They wanted to go out and roam the streets. They were the cooler kids on the team and I wanted to be cool too, so I decided to tag along. We grabbed Cokes, told the parents we were going “for a walk,” and headed out. 

I was rather happy, finally getting to roll with the cool kids. But, pretty quickly, I realized it wouldn’t be a casual stroll through the neighborhood.

A few of the guys decided we would play Nicky Nine Doors, an adrenaline-infused game for moronic teenagers where you knock on people’s doors and then run away. 

But, as running away immediately was “for wimps,” it needed to be taken up a notch.  After knocking, we’d all wait outside the house. The first person to panic and run away was the loser. They’d have to knock on the door of the next house.

I was hesitant, my thoughts swirling in a confusing mixture of excitement and fear, but I was with my cool teammates and I wasn’t turning back.

Our first target was an average suburban house. The rest of us stood on the sidewalk as someone ran up, hastily knocked on the door, and ran back, hurdling a bush and tearing across the lawn. 

We waited.

The front door opened and a woman’s head appeared behind a glass storm door. Dusk had settled on the streets and you couldn’t make out much detail. Just a silhouette. 

We stood there and stared at her and she stared back out at us. 

My knees trembled with fear, my stomach flipped and flopped like a fish suffocating in fresh air, but my legs were rooted to the spot. 

There were a few tense seconds. 

But, none of us ran. None of us wanted to chicken out. We just stood there. 

A full minute passed. 

Excitement turned to confusion. Confusion turned to boredom. This game was becoming drastically less climactic than anticipated. 

Then, the car came… 

---

Little did we know, in the dim light the woman thought we were a group of dangerous men, not immature boys, standing 10 meters from her front door, and called her husband, who was already on his way home. 

The car came out of nowhere, driving up the curb and onto the sidewalk, brakes screeching, nearly toppling us over like bowling pins. Our innocent game quickly turned serious. 

I hesitated, unsure what to do, unable to process the gravity of the situation unfolding in front of me, but when someone yelled, “Run!” I dropped my half-full can of Coke on the sidewalk and ran.

I’ve never been a particularly fast or agile fellow, preferring the library to track and field. 

I chased after my teammates sprinting down the sidewalk but fell behind. Anyways, I doubted anyone would chase after us.  I began to feel a smattering of confidence I’d make it out of this unscathed. 

But, then, I heard the sound of jangling keys. 

I was running as hard as I could. Legs pumping. Chest heaving. 

It didn’t matter. 

Sprinting at full speed, I remember being shoved from behind to the sidewalk, and landing hard on my right elbow, tearing away a chunk of flesh nearly an inch deep. With a strength I’d never felt before, I was yanked up by the collar of my shirt, the cheap material splitting down the seam. 

Pure, raw, unadulterated fear. 

My overactive brain kicked into gear as I stammered something like “I didn’t do anything,” but he wasn’t listening. It was like waving a hankie in the face of a Tyrannosaurus rex. Face twisted with rage, he marched me back down the sidewalk toward his house. Soon I realized this guy wanted to take me inside. 

Seconds felt like hours.

Luckily his wife, still standing at the door, heard my pleas and yelled to let me go. 

I shook loose and continued to walk, keeping my pace, yelling a “Thank you!” over my shoulder to her, surprising myself with my nerve. Partially sarcastic but completely genuine. 

I stumbled down the sidewalk for a few minutes, in a trance, back to the house where the team party was still rolling along as if nothing had happened.

As I turned into the driveway, I raised my gaze and saw my coach standing outside, taking a break from the small talk, a rare look of concern spread across his face.

He was a Saskatchewan prairie boy turned media executive. Built like an oxen, over six feet tall with big broad shoulders, and a subtle strength only a childhood working on the farm can develop. A good man, with an unfailing quality of kindness in his eyes. A modern-day Gordie Howe.

I was shell-shocked, embarrassed, and still trembling with fear. Pain surging through my body, tears running down my cheek, blood pouring out of my elbow and running down my arm.

As I walked up, he put his Molson down on a nearby truck, took two steps toward me, said nothing, and gave me a massive bear hug. I savored the exquisite feeling of safety. Drew a shaky deep breath in and a long, slow breath out. Tension slowly left my body, as my face softened and my shoulders relaxed.

For those few precious moments, despite everything that had happened, I knew everything was going to be okay.

---

Looking back, almost a decade later, revisiting this story has taught me about the power of simple a hug.

In the modern world, we’re swimming in relationships but starved of human touch.

In the day-to-day rush of modern life, I tend to lose sight of what’s important. I get caught up in progress and achievement, I compare myself to others, I wonder if I’m doing enough. 

My head gets lost in the clouds. A hug pulls me back to earth.

Love reminds me of what truly matters, shrinks things back to their proper size, and assures me that everything is going to be okay.

That incident was one of the worst days of my life. But, with a hug, my fear melted away.

So, express some love today. If the moment’s right, give someone a hug. (And not just a little one-arm side swipe. A full six-second hug.)

We tend to put on a brave face, downplay our struggle, and pretend to have everything under control.

You never know who’s having a hard day. You never know who’s head is lost in the clouds. You never know who may need a hug. 

I know I certainly did.

So, yeah, that’s how I got that scar on my elbow.

---

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