Sunday, January 4, 2015

My Dad's Hands

I remember as a little kid of about three or four, looking at my dad’s hands and wondering why they looked the way they did. My hands were smooth, his were not. After I got a little older, I realized it was because he worked for a living and that’s how working hands look.

But even after I’d been working for a while myself (still as a kid), my hands didn’t look nearly as callused or weathered as his. I used to check my hands at night, especially after a particularly hard day’s work, and though it seemed they should be developing calluses and toughening up, they never really matched my dad’s hands. I decided it was because he must work more than I did. A LOT more, apparently. After all, he was always working on something. Me, I spent a lot of time playing. Still, I wanted my hands to look like that.

As a teenager, they did develop a few calluses and become a little rougher, but nothing like my dad’s. In school, I learned that due to genetics, eventually my hands would inevitably have many of the same features as my father’s. But I figured that was only referring to size and shape. Besides, by then, I had given up on the idea my hands would ever look like his.

Life went on and I grew up, and continued working—and aging. I’m not sure when it happened, but one day, I noticed my hands had the same weathered look as my father’s when I was a little boy. Of course, by this time, his hands were obviously well beyond where mine were. Still, my hands had become like his were when I first noticed them. I had inherited his hands! Or, not.

Although I’m sure genetics played a role, I knew I hadn’t actually inherited his hands. Instead, what he’d given me was a work ethic. That, combined with time, and I suppose a little due to genetics, had given me my dad’s hands.

Since that epiphany, I’d pretty much forgotten about it—until recently. Over the Christmas holiday, my son was home for a few days, and I noticed his hands were starting to take on the same look. Apparently, I passed the working thing on to him as well—and the hands. Hope he doesn’t mind.

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords, or at Amazon Profile - Bruce A. Borders also serves as the Vice President of Rave Reviews Book Club.


Current Reads

Allergic To Life: My Battle For Survival
Kathryn C. Treat

The Miracle Ship
Brian O’Hare

Mystical Emona: Soul’s Journey
Ronesa Aveela


C. S. Boyack
The Cock Of The South

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