This story and memories are about hands, specifically my hands, although the hands of others may be mentioned. My hands are versatile; they work as a team or as individuals. They usually do good work but sometimes they shirk working altogether.
My hands like to do different tasks. One likes to write and brush my teeth. The other one likes to bowl, throw balls, and take the lead in batting a baseball. One pushes buttons and wipes both windows and my butt. One feeds me while the other helps and then loads the dishwasher. The first holds my rifle while the second squeezes the trigger. One likes to give me pleasure while the other usually watches, joining in on rare occasions. One operates my cell phone while the other holds it steady. Both make a great team using a keyboard and communicating using various non-verbal signs. They coordinate holding books and turning pages so I can read stories. They both chip in to sort clothes for the laundry and then to fold and hang them up later.
When I was a baby they both tasted good, even sweet like candy. At bath-time, they were my toys and servants, washing me at my command. As I grew my toys changed and my hands acquired new skills. They collaborated with my legs and feet and I was able to ride a tricycle and later, bicycles. They learned how to fly a kite and to operate lawn mowers. Still later, they would allow me to drive automobiles.
My hands would often do things that got them dirty, and then they wash each other to remove the dirt and grime. When I was younger, they liked to play in the snow but don’t enjoy it very much now.
My hands traveled far and wide. They have been to Disneyland, Disney World, Euro Disney, Knott’s Berry Farm, Shasta Dam, Hoover Dam, the Golden Gate Bridge, Trees of Mystery, Crescent City, Grand Coulee Dam, Portland,
Vancouver, Seattle, Boy Scout World Jamboree, BSA Camps Winton and Harvey West, British Columbia, Alberta, Niagara Falls, Times Square, France, Germany, Moscow, Voronezh, Saint Petersburg, Tampa, New Orleans, San Antonio, Tucson, Sea World, the Eiffel Tower, Bitter Root Valley, Hot Springs Arkansas, both Titan and Minuteman missile silos, Pierre, straddled flag pole peak while holding on to the flag pole, and their favorite—piloting the Skipalong on Lake Tahoe.
Yet for all of this travel my hands are just two of many and are not particularly noteworthy like some others. Hansel is famous for getting lost. Handel is famous for composing music. Hans Christian Anderson is famous for writing stories for children. Hans Conried is a famous actor. Hans Zimmer is a composer. Hans Albert is a philosopher.
There are many hands. Black hands, white hands, Oriental hands, Polynesian hands, brown hands, straight hands, LGBT hands, and perhaps others, but they all have one thing in common. They are all attached to people who want to live a happy life and provide a happy life for their descendants.
The song says in part, “He’s got the whole world in his hands. …” Isn’t it about time all of us humans settle down and live peaceably together—before He uses His hands to slap us silly?
© 28 June 2015
About the Author
When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.
I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.
My story blog is TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com
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