Ah, my hands. I love them and I hate them.
I don’t like them because they are not my mother’s long, feminine, slender-fingered olive-toned hands. They are like my dad’s–chubby, stubby, always slightly battered and dry from my using them as shovels, screwdrivers or paint scrapers, and washing baby bottles in very HOT water. Have you ever seen that Seinfeld episode with the “man hands”? Yeah, I’ve got THOSE.
These things…they’re just so awkward.
They flail around so wildly to illustrate what I’m speaking, that you would think I had invented my own over-enthusiastic sign language. They constantly have to be touching and fidgeting with things, unconsciously destroying book pages and headphone cords. They move too suddenly, making me accidentally bump people or knock things over. They are extremely double-jointed and cramp up painfully and easily for some reason.
I don’t know what to DO with them when I’m not actually doing something with them. They freeze rigid in weird positions when I’m in public, and I’ll look down and there one of them is in a tight fist while the other is splayed open on top of it and I wonder why.
It’s like they’re almost a separate entity with a mind of their own.
But I love them because of what they can do: type quickly, craft almost anything I want, pick up the jagged pieces of whatever glass I just broke without a scratch. They are unfazed by baby boogers, spit-up or poop. They can carry 9 bags of groceries at once so I don’t have to make a ton of trips. They give great hugs and back rubs. They look like “man hands”, but they are mom hands.
And I love that they remind me of my dad’s, which gave the best hugs, chopped wood for our stove, and created beautiful art.
(By the way, in case you haven’t seen that Seinfeld clip, here it is. You can thank me later.)
I’d like to know: What do you do with your hands when you’re not actively using them? And what do they do best? Feel free to comment below!
Image used with permission courtesy of David Wahl at Archie Mcphee.com