I used to think life was a process of growing older and wiser. You put the puzzle pieces together, finding those intellectual edge pieces to the larger picture and placing them to make sense out of a 2,524,554,080 second blank jigsaw.

But then you meet people who’ve gotten dumber, and you experience circumstances that essentially upturn the table holding your personal puzzle.

A few months ago, I went to the dermatologist to get my flawed Irish skin a checkout. We decided to biopsy a rad part of my forehead. A week later, the office called and said it was cancerous. Now, before we go further, know there are a few kinds of skin cancer.

Let me give you the 7th grade report I gave my class as a kid. There are three kinds of skin cancer: basal, squamous and melanoma. Now, cancer is a family friend. It’s been close or loose acquaintances with almost every member of my extended fashion in one way or the other. Basal cancer, which I now knew I had, is at the bottom of the list of horrible versions of cancer, but it also means I’m more likely to get it again now.

The dermatologist went on to say that she recommended I get it operated on surgically right away, and this particular surgery would be a long one. They would slice the tissue and test it, over and over. Fun, right?

We scheduled it. I arrived. And four hours later I had several layers of skin cut out of my head, and tested for cancer. I was glad to be rid of it, but the vain part of me still fixated on the fact that my fat head with a giant gash in it wouldn’t be an ideal image for my new job. I was Massive Head Wound Harry, if you remember that sketch. Nothing I put on the wound made it hurt less or less visible. I had to just deal. There were magic spells for it to disappear or have never happened in the first place. That’s life as a muggle.

So, now I have a scar people ask me about at an almost alarmingly comedic rate. I’ve been playing with various stories, each getting weirder than the next. I’ve decided I’m going to start saying, “I fought Voldemort and lived” when people ask about the scar on my forehead.

I’m the boy who lived, and became a dad.