hands

every time I look at my hands, I see my dad. they are one of the many features I inherited from him. short and stubby, tough, not very lady-like at all. they are hands built for hard work and my dad used them that way his whole life.


my dad used his hands for lots of different types of manual labor. he did things like construction, gold mining, gardening, home repairs, hunting, rocking out on the drums, auto mechanics, and of course, rocks. digging rocks up, washing them, cutting them, polishing them, and gluing tiny pieces of them back together with his magic glue. having his hands, I have often wondered how he was so good at all of this. I find myself very limited in so many things because my fingers won't fit into small places or maneuver well around things. but, I know I can because my dad could, so I keep on trying.


my dad also used his hands to torment us. he was famous for thumping our heads pretty hard when we were in trouble, or just when he wanted to get our attention or get us riled up. he could also do crazy things to our arms and legs that caused intense pain before we even knew what happened. he sure got a kick out of that. he was unbelievably strong and could crunch our knuckles in with no effort and send us falling to our knees begging him to stop. as much as this would hurt or annoy me, I loved the joy and smile it brought to his face and his little "neener-neener" type of giggle it caused. 


he also used his hands to tickle us. whenever we left a hand dangling somewhere, an armpit exposed, or a foot dangling out from under the blankets, he would tickle. and sometimes he would just tackle us and tickle, tickle, tickle all over until we could no longer breathe or fight back or had farted. yes... farted. that always got the whole house involved and laughing hysterically. if we were lucky though, the tickling would end by us getting him to massage out some knots in our back or neck. it hurt like hell, but did the trick.


but, my favorite thing my dad did with his hands were the pats and squeezes when he hugged. he would pat or rub your back just to add that little extra touch of love he knew we needed. and if I was ever standing by his side he would bring his hand around my back and up to my shoulder for a tight side hug and extra squeeze on my arm. everything my dad did with his hands was a way that he showed his love. I hope my hands will do the same. 

31

in two days I will be celebrating my 31st birthday. I've dreaded birthdays before, but never like this. 


my dad was never good with birthdays or any other significant dates. even holidays. he always knew when it was getting close, so he would just call you whenever he thought about it. so, some years I would get a call a day or two or three before my brithday, and some years a day or two or three after. one year he called me on amber's birthday and when I told him it was her birthday, he still didn't call her for a couple more days. it rarely happened on my actual birthday. and every time I would just laugh and say, "thanks dad. I will pretend today is the 11th" 


so, every year at this time I would be expecting a call from my dad at any moment. and for the first time in my 31 years it's not going to happen. there isn't much I wouldn't give for just one more conversation with my dad. the one-sided conversations I have been having with him have been good, but lately I have been really needing some solid reassurance from him. 


one thing I am sure of is that I would not be the person I am today if it weren't for him. and I can honestly so that 31 years in I am very happy with who I am. I couldn't be more proud than when I notice characteristics in myself that are because of him. I love you, dad. and I hope I am doing you proud.