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Hands

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My family is odd. We are all different. We have different personalities and different ideas about different things. We all have different hands.
My dad’s hands are grizzly bears. They are big, callused, and have many scars. And, they smell like cars. He works all day at the power house and then comes home and works in the garage. Daniel’s hands are slight, yet manly. There is a scar on the side of his hand. The scar is like a coffee bean in the middle of a puddle of milk. It sticks out…much like my brother himself. He is fun, smart, and generally awesome. Monique’s hands are smooth and gentle. They haven’t seen many days of hard labor. She is usually inside on the computer or complaining to somebody about something. My hands are short and stubby. They have a few scars from times when I scraped them while I was on an “adventure” in my backyard by the river. And, they are awkward and different from other people. My nails are chewed up and the skin around the nail is raw and red from my many hangnails.
But, my mom’s hands are flawless. Her nails are impeccable and clean. They are long and sturdy. Her hands are slender and have few scars and calluses. And, the scars and calluses she does have are from working with leather all day. Her hands are undeniably strong but they look well kept. She is the backbone of our family. She is kind and gentle and easy to talk to. But, she is tough when she needs to be.
Together, my family is odd. It looks like we don’t belong together because we are all so different. But, everybody’s difference creates a certain balance. A flow. An organized chaos. And, I wouldn’t trade my family for anyone else.





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