My family all has different hands. My grandpa’s hands are log cabins. They are large and tough, and even though they have seen many years of storms and weathering, they still are strong and working. My mom’s hands are like smooth rocks that have taken years to smooth under the constant current of a river. They are smooth now but bear the resemblance of the rough hands that once built her life from the ground up. My sister’s hands are diamonds. They are dainty and small, but are much stronger than you may think just by looking at them. My hands are Tootsie Roll pops. They are tough on the outside, but there is a small soft center in the middle. How many licks would it take to get there? The world may never know.