Take a moment and 'hand' it to me, will you.

Daddy's Hands
'Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin'
Daddy's hands were hard as steel when I'd done wrong
Daddy's hands weren't always gentle but I've come to understand
There was always love in Daddy's hands'


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Hey you! Yeah,you. . I see you looking at my hands. Not pretty looking I know. Sadly I'm powerless to change them.
If you know me in real life, I mean really know me, my hands have been a source of stress for me. I hate the way they've aged faster than I have.  I've always tried to hide them the best I could, hoodies with extended cuffs and thumb holes, Pockets work well in a pinch.

I'm not famous, I can't afford the exorbitant cost of what it takes to 'fix' them. However I notice a lot of celebrities overlook their hands. Their faces made up to perfection, high end surgeries from experts in the field of body alterations. Recovering in exotic places away from prying public eyes, then coming back home to live the lie.

Yeah. . I notice the hands, having had a hate on for my own,for so many years.

Till now, last week in fact. If pressed for a time I'd have to say approx mid-afternoon.
I'm not sure what shifted in my world, nothing special happened when I gave up the fight with my ugly hands. I was a passenger going along for the ride on what was remarkably a non busy highway that usually fights for the right to own the entire stretch.
I can tell you this; I had just finished staring at the backs of my hands for a ten solid minutes. I think I went somewhere deep in that head of mine. I don't remember being aware of the passage of time.
When I came back to the world of the living I knew I was past tired of hiding. I was,at the very moment ,exhausted from being swallowed by the hate I had of them.
I simply do not have the strength to fight what I can't stop. My age, my aging. My hands that have seen 50 years ( God help me, my breathing momentarily stops when I say this number still.. But like my hands, I'm working on it.

So I say this to you now. . .see these hands? Let me tell you about them:

These hands are a hard working woman's hands. They don't shy away from the curveballs life throws at me. They've held newborns, they've nursed the sick back tho health. They've held and helped dying animals/pets reach the end of one path and hopefully the start of another.
They've loved, they've hurt others, been rude times and yes, they've scolded when it was warranted.
The food they've prepared with care, the mountains of dishes they have washed would probably stretch across this great country I live in.
The rivers of tears they've captured and held, many of them my own in a bid to righten an immediate world gone mad.
The faces of the loved ones they have stroked, the hugs they've freely given along with my heart.
The cuts, bruises, the abuse they have gone through.

See these hands? They are MY hands and every line, every vein you see are MY badges of honour, my right to brag of what they've done.
Who am I to hide what I have worked so VERY hard for? They are a testimony to the life I have lived, an honest hard working life.
And now I choose to be damn proud of that fact.

 A life to which I still have a whole lotta livin' left to do and I will do so with the help of these hands. These hands that can not tell a lie.
But I will tell you this, they're done hiding.