I am sure that I ruined my chance to be a hand model early in life. The opportunity to hock hand lotion, rings, and pens fell behind me forever the first time I slammed my hand in a door and I remember that happening more than once as a kid. At age 17 I broke and dislocated my right pinky while playing dodge ball with a bunch of 8 year olds (Sneaky little bastards) so completely that there was extensive talk of pins, thought they were never needed. Since then it has been a steady stream of abuse. Cuts, arthritis, stitches, blisters, burns, and breaks have followed and despite all of this my hands remain one of my favorite things about me. Well, perhaps beloved because of all of those little scars, if I were being honest. I like mementos and I can look down at my hands and see the time I burned my left thumb helping my brother put an alternator in his piece of shit truck. I can glance over at my right hand and see the scars from where I continued to fight at one event despite the blood and blisters that covered my paws. There are more memories all across my fingers, knuckles and my wrists that make me smile, roll my eyes at my own stupidity, or both.
Yes, they occasionally cramp and ache with the arthritis, yes I abuse them on a regular basis, and yes I should definitely chew on my fingernails a lot less. But despite those things I like that my hands are large, with square palms and long fingers. I like that I can carry a ton of groceries, clampdown on someone with a startling grip, help someone off the ground with authority, or run my fingers through my wife’s hair all to great effect.
I don’t lament never convincing anyone to buy hand cream with my perfect manicured fingertips or being the man behind a billion dollar advertising campaign. But I would be sad if I had never swung a rattan sword, grabbed a speeding puck out of midair or held my wife’s hand while we walked on the beach. So all in all I will take the hands I have and look forward to years of mementos written across my skin.
I agree your hands are great because of the scars, not despite them, for all the reasons you list. The marks that living leaves behind – the stories those marks hold – yeah, that’s what’s really beautiful. I truly believe that about everyone else. I”m just not always so good at including myself with everyone else. And you really have done some damage in the past 2 decades . . . .impressive . . .
I still wish you wouldn’t chew on your fingers so much.
xoxox