Sydney Pearce

Ms. Gardner
English 10H/Per. 4
22 January 2017

The Tapestry of Life

My first sunburn was the most horrible experience of my toddler life. My sister ran

around my aunts backyard, chased by the relentless tickle monster my cousin Jared called

himself. He had learned that strategy of teasing from his older brother, Taylor, who sat on the

edge of the deck trying his hand at yo-yo tricks. Strapped to my mothers chest I giggled at the

hilarious sight of a rather large young boy bouncing across the barely kept grass in vain, because

their was no way a chubby four year old could catch up with my just entered gymnastics three

year old sister. My mom was laughing too, I would expect, but I just can't seem to wrap my

memory that far back. Soon, in the middle of the fun and games, my mom looked down at my

plump, smiling cheeks revealing to her a bright salmon pigment. Quoting her directly, she

screamed and ran inside while calling the doctor to see when I could come in for my nearest

appointment. Keeping in mind that when I was younger, I had Casper the Friendly Ghost written

on every inch of my body, so there was a great deal of worry involved. Thanks to fun times, I

had just been introduced to the rest of my summers as a fair skinned, often negligent about SPF,

person.

Back then, I had never known the importance of the skin to every human being.

Everyone's skin, through all the pigmentation, scarring, burning, and diseases, turns into a

displayed story of their life. Everyone, like me, becomes susceptible to environmental and social

dangers right off the bat. Everyone has to face the affects of life being displayed on their skin:

their personal tapestry.

 My tapestry has been sewn and weaved throughout my life by differing experiences. The

first time I remember having a hole ripped through, is three years after the incident with the sun

burning.

It was Christmas of 2006, and my entire family on my Moms side had gathered into my

grandparents cramped house. All 30 of us, standing and conversing over some version of Its

Beginning to Look a lot like Christmas with the older kids up in the upstairs bedroom gossiping

on the latest crushes and junior high school drama. My sister, Emma, and I played under the

dining table with Jasmine, the perfectly groomed Shiba Inu with a removed voice box due to

diseases. Jasmine was beckoned out from under the table with a juicy chicken leg in her food

bowl. In the middle of the fun and games, I reached for her during her chowing session, she

lunged with teeth bared, and my hand gushed blood before I could even scream.

She caught me in her jaws right where the left index finger and its corresponding knuckle

meet. Luckily, having two aunts as registered nurses, I never rushed to the hospital on Christmas

Day of 2006. A decade later, I still proudly display the faint crooked scar.

Though my majority of scars fade and absorb back into my skin, many people are faced

with more devastating scars. Some, made from fun and over excitement, are jagged and clumsy.

Others display the struggles of that persons life and the hard times they have faced. A few

missing stitches or a plethora of mediated, measured rips, can tell any bystander of the times that

person has fallen down, and picked themselves back up again, or had others assist them in the

struggle. Some struggles may not be displayed by people on their skin, but in their social

interactions and behavior.

 Now, Barbara. My friends dad nursed a beer from his recliner while watching the

news on how a black man saved a woman from sexual assault. I wouldn't let my daughter get

anywhere near that man. He'd rape her right after, I bet.

In the middle of the fun and games, I heard him say this. My seven year old mind even

knew that his statement strongly contrasted everything I had been taught to believe. I did not

know what rape meant, I did not know the difference between a white man and a black man in

this situation. The man, no matter of skin color, had done an extraordinary bravery toward this

woman; however, Paul had torn down his deed into motivation of wanting to subject a woman to

what this man had saved her from. All because of the amount of color in his skin.

The amount of color ones tapestry takes in is dependent only to geography. Closer to the

equator, the more rich and vibrant the colors display with every stitch. Closer to the North Pole,

the more subtle and muted the tones come off the cloth. Each persons skin is their own artwork

with their own pigments to tell their story. They have weaved their unique strings into patterns

only they truly know. So how can someone, with a different and unique set of colors and tones,

hold judgment over the heads of anyone else's pieces of art?

Sometimes, these art pieces can fade, fold, and hang heavily over time. Other times, even

early in life, they could be misstitched. They could have a mutation that would easily be

noticeable to anyone walking by, or it could be an invisible malfunction.

A gut wrenching headache. That is all it was. While my best friend, Caitlin, and I tried on

the finest of her moms heel collection, her mother journeyed into the kitchen for some aspirin

for a headache that had bothered her all day. In the middle of the fun and games, I knew

something was wrong. Before she could reach the medicine drawer, she had fainted and fallen on
the cold marble floor. Caitlin and I heard the thump; we clamored to the source of the noise in

two-sizes-too-big shoes. At thirteen, Kellie was the first person I saw unconscious, not due to

sleep or medication. She awoke moments later with her hand on her head, looking dazed.

A month or so passed. She had made her trip to the hospital, and returned with a

diagnosis: Stage 4 Melanoma. There are three types of skin cancers, and according to

Familydoctor.org,

Most skin cancers don't spread, but melanoma is very serious. It can spread

through the whole body. If it is found early, it can be cured.

That familys entire life turned 180 degrees. They moved in with her cousins in Tiburon, the only

people that could support them financially. Kellie needed to get even closer to the UCSF for her

treatment. Three months later, after multiple rounds of chemotherapy, the melanoma that had

burrowed through her skull and into her brain had taken her life. If melanoma is found late, it

may cause death (Familydoctor.org). I could never imagine the pain it brought to Caitlin's

family, but if my sadness is only a fraction of what they experienced, it would be exponentially

unbearable.

Before she died, she told me that a heavy heart can kill a man and to always wear

sunscreen. Now, these two are my mottos for life. I try not to let sadness consume me, I try not

to wear it on my skin.

Sometimes, you have to let your tapestry rip. You have to let it surround you and

consume you. But that does not mean your tapestry defines you. You can be Casper the Friendly

Ghost or you can be made of the richest colored strings the world can find. Your tapestry belongs

to you.