Scars.
The family scar thing is weird. I have two friends who sport scars almost identical to their Dads, as indeed do I. We both have one under our chins, slightly curved and which refuse to grow beard on them.

Dad got his slipping over and banging his chin when playing pool at university. My claim to fame is that I tripped over the red carpet laid for Mother Theresa's visit to my primary school whilst carrying my own little chair into the school hall. I never saw the lil' lady herself, but I got to wear an unfeasibly large plaster for a week which impressed my 6 year old peers far more than a visit from any wizened old nun.
(singingringingtree Living in the past., Wed 2 Jan 2008, 20:59, Reply)