spectrums of pain

When I was around eight or nine years old, a few friends (Jo, Heidi, and Wallace) and I were playing baseball in the yard of the Catholic elementary school adjacent to my block. Our version of 'baseball' wasn't always consistent, but it generally consisted of my yellow, wooden baseball bat and a tennis ball. We used our hats or jackets as bases. Usually there was a pitcher and no defined teams. Every kid for themself.

This particular day, I remember, the game had ended and we were heading back to my house for dinner. Heidi was swinging the bat around as we walked. I recall bending down to tie my shoe and when I caught up she must not have heard me because the next thing I heard was the crack of that solid wooden bat colliding HARD with my right hip-bone. I know I collapsed right onto the ground and couldn't speak for a few moments but maybe a minute later I was back on my feet and lightly making my way back to my house. I didn't even cry. I think I actually laughed when we were back at my house. There ended up being a WICKED bruise that spanned the size of my hand but nothing else. Weird, eh?

I think I have a very large physical pain threshold. I've ran around on a sprained ankle (which is why my ankles are so messed up now), and over the many times my right earhole has closed up, I consistently grit my teeth and force the earring in anyway, dabbing away the blood like sweat.

Sorry. I know I'm grossing people out. The point is, I have a high tolerance for physical pain, but my tolerance for emotional pain is greatly lacking. I cry easily over emotional hurts, I miss people easily, I run away from things I don't want to deal with, things that seem too hard. Part of me wishes that my emotional tolerance and physical tolerance would swap places. Wouldn't life be easier to live that way? Instead of building emotional walls, I could just try harder not to fall on my face or let my earholes close up. And to stay out of the way of baseball bats.

Which is far easier when you're twenty than when you're eight.