In my post yesterday, I wrote about my daughter's hands.Today I was looking through an old writer's notebook and found a snippet about my son's hands. Here is a slice based on that snippet.
Mitchell's hands are the hands of a typical 11 year old boy. He doesn't bite his nails. In fact, sometimes his nails get longish and he trims them with clippers. Yes, they are often dirty. It is amazing he isn't covered in staph and flesh eating bacteria. He scratches and digs at mosquito bites with those icky nails. He still spends hours in the creek catching snakes and netting blue gill. He comes home with a ditch smell which is different from his muddy b-o smell from football practice.
My son's hands are always busy folding origami dragons, practicing card tricks, and making fishing poles out of rulers and other stuff from the junk drawer. Mitch's hands spend hours combining lego pieces to create miniature robots; all with names, specialized weapons, and are either good or evil. He devotes hours to revising these characters until they are just right. He doesn't like to hold my hand that much any more. Sometimes when I get to hold his hand in church, he squeezes it so hard that I give him the evil eye. He delights in my painful winces. It's better than not holding his hand at all.