I can’t let this challenge go by without another “hands.”
When I think of hands, I think of my father. He had huge farmer hands. They were typically stained with field dirt and oil from working with machinery; and inevitably, one or two fingernails were blackened from runaway hammers. At those times, he was known to yell, “Yumpin’ yimmy yohnson!”
As a youngster, I loved to sit in church and finger Dad’s big hands, tracing the creases and soaking in the comfort they brought. He was a man’s man, a farmer, an inventor, a singer, a gentle husband and father, and I miss him.