My Mom’s Hands

When I was a little girl, I remember sitting in the front seat of the car when my mom drove or sitting next to my mom at church, and I would hold her hand. I wouldn’t just hold her hand, though, I remember studying her hand and tracing with my finger all the lines all over it. My mom’s hands were something that I found very interesting. I don’t know if my mom even knew how much I liked looking at her hands. Mom’s hands were so different from my own. Bigger, stronger and lots of bumps and wrinkles and lines, as well as some scars. Back then, mom didn’t worry overmuch about her fingernails, I guess, or at least I don’t remember much about her fingernails. I don’t remember that she used polish, so I guess she didn’t. Though now, in her 60’s, her fingernails are nearly always perfect – I don’t know how she does it. Anyway, I just loved getting to sit in the front seat when my mom drove and getting to hold her hand. Being the youngest of 5 kids, I didn’t often get the front, so it was a real treat.

My mom’s hands epitomized capable to me, even though at the time I didn’t know that. My mom could do anything, and she could make anything. You needed a toy part put back in where it belonged, and my mom could do it. You needed a new dress for school, and my mom could sew it. You wanted a shelf in your room, my mom could make it. You smarted off to my mom, and you learned your lesson with those hands. You hummed a tune and my mom would play it for you on the piano. Tools, machinery, craft projects, books, sewing, crocheting, gardening, cooking, baking, hanging laundry, canning foods, doing ceramics, macramé, embroidery, brushing your hair, checking your forehead when you felt bad... my mom’s hands could handle anything.

And they looked the part. Hands well used. They would never look skinny and soft and smooth and pampered, no way. To me, my mom’s hands were beautiful.

I was just driving my car this morning, and I noticed my own hands on the steering wheel. Ragged nails, bumps, bruises, scars, a cut, a scrape, wrinkles and lines galore. And then I realized, with warm pleasure, I’ve got my mom’s hands!