My Hands

Tonight, I put myself in the figurative "timeout chair" and took a long walk to re-think about something that had transpired earlier in the day.

After a while - I got hot and sweaty - I saw some deer - and really didn't look at them much - being lost in thought - I was nearly run over by some people on bikes - but I really didn't look at them much either.


I ended up looking at my hands. They have been with me for a while now and they have been to many places and through a lot.

They have been mistreated - forced to hold a credit card and scrape ice from a windshield until they bled - been burned by spilled battery acid - have oozed from poison ivy rash - been seared by a soldering iron - stapled to a roof by a power shingle gun - and hacked by a wood shop power saw.

They, somehow through all that - remember textures - the soft pillow case at night - the rough permanence of a rocky wall - the smooth gloss of a polished piece of wood - the pleasant soak of warm water while washing dishes - the cooling touches of falling rain drops - and the silky softness of a dog's ear being rubbed.

They often wave - sometimes hello - sometimes goodbye - and sometimes with only one finger - be it the "we are number one" finger or the other finger that says something else entirely.

They sometimes shake - be it from nervous excitement - the cold - or clasped in a handshake.


They are often swollen and vacillate between numbness and sharp stabbing pain - they have no great skill or exceptional ability - the piano mocks them - painting even with a roller challenges them - sign language leaves them "tongue tied" - tying knots at the dock frequently baffles them - and sometimes just holding up a box or a drinking glass takes a bit of effort.

Each Monday morning, after a weekend away from a keyboard, they always need to be retaught where each of the letters are - and they insist on spelling the word "the" as "teh" no matter what day of the week.


They haven't done a lot of things - they haven't rocked a baby to sleep in a crib - or changed a diaper - or wiped a driblet of drool away from a face just learning where its mouth is - or lifted a car seat in or out of a car - or pushed a stroller through the mall.

They haven't held someone else's hands - or caressed a cheek - or rubbed someones shoulders - in a decade or more - they might as well be retired or put away in the back of a closet.

They do, after a fashion, hammer out words at the computer - sometimes slower than my mind wants to go - sometimes faster than my mind thinks things through - and sometimes they hammer them out without my mind...paying much mind to the words that they are forming.

Words that...can have unbelievable power - the power to lift someone from a dark place - the power to bring about a smile or a laugh or warm and happy tear - words of encouragement - words of sympathy and empathy - words of cheer - and congratulations - words of prayer - and shared hopefulness - and sometimes shared sadness.


They can also cause hurt. They have thrown rocks and sticks and held baseball bats, golf clubs, and hammers that collided with unprotected places causing pain and disfigurement.

Most recently they formed words that were thoughtless and hurtful. My hands could point - they have a finger that does that - to someone else or something else - but...

...they are my hands.

And the thoughtless words were mine. So now I force my hands to hammer out a few more words - words that they are familiar with - since they frequently make mistakes - words like "I am sorry" and "Please forgive me".

My hands are often clumsy - and don't go or do what I want them to do - but they can't run off without me - and I won't let them shirk being responsible for having caused someone to be hurt.

I can't promise they won't slip up again - but I'll try to do my best with them - they are the only hands I've got.

I am sorry.