My Hands

My hands are small, like my father's. All of his children inherited that particular characteristic. He was a chemist. His hands mixed all kinds of things together, while cloaked in synthetic gloves. They were precise hands.

So are my hands, precise, that is. Their movements are brief and conservative for the most part, measured, some might say. Slender fingers with knobby knuckles attached to a rectangular palm, they tend to be somewhat deceptive. They're delicate in appearance, with thin skin that shows the veins beneath. Anyone would think they were weak, fragile, but that's far from the truth. They're tenacious with a strong grip, as well as clever. They learn new things all the time.

Sometimes they work virtually on their own without my supervision. Typing is an easy trick for them, as well as operating most appliances. Filing they can do fast and efficiently, whenever they get the chance. Baking is also a favorite. They really like the stirring part, and cookie cutters tend to show them off.

Sometimes they have to be forced to move. Paying bills is extremely difficult for them. They hate getting up early on a Saturday and make their feelings known by refusing to hold onto anything, even the remote control. Shaking hands with people they dislike invariably breaks them out in a sweat.

Sometimes they move too much and have to be subdued. They hate meetings and restlessly tap the table or rustle papers, until they're finally confined to my lap. A spirited discussion or excited conversation will start them waving around until others begin to fear for their breakables.

Sometimes they are gentle. They love to rock babies and hold wiggly puppies. Brushing hair and putting it up into a pony tail with very special holders is usually accomplished without much complaint.

Sometimes they're angry and they pound the counter or desk with surprising force. Any injustice causes them to tremble and ball up. Happily, they seldom lose control and soon calm themselves, relaxing into their usual position.


Sometimes they get me in trouble. They're always finding things to do, some of which aren't appreciated by others. When learning a new musical instrument they're treated to frowns and pained expressions. Efforts at the computer might elicit a few questionable phrases from some.

Mostly, I like my hands, even though they're not what most call beautiful. They're useful and dependable, which is a comfort to me. They may be small, but they're capable of great things, just like everyone else's.