April 1, 2010
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In my family, we each have different hands. My dad’s hands smell like gasoline, and have oil stains in the wrinkles. He is a construction worker, and tends to bring his work home with him.
My hands are smaller than anyone I know, notes in pen on my left, and smooth. Even though they are small, my hands have done great things. They’ve helped me become a Varsity athlete, play trombone and piano, write, draw, and many other things.
My brother’s hands are as smooth as the water’s surface. He holds a lot of responsibility, but takes care of the people he cares about.

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