Take a moment to consider your hands. Controlled by the brain, they are remarkable instruments instantly executing our mental commands with phenomenal dexterity. Also, the fingers of each hand have markers unique to billions of past and present human finger prints.
My hands began as pink little paws grasping for mothers touch and warmth. After some time, my hands began to playfully grasp the hands of a loving sister, cousins, and playmates. A few years later, father guided my growing hands to successfully control a bicycle. Then, he helped while I nervously maneuvered the steering and stick shift of his automobile.
Miraculously, with the guidance and frowns from patient nuns, the fingers of my right hand were trained to write the alphabet in flowing cursive. At the same time, my hands occasionally clenched into fists to battle other boys in long forgotten disputes. My schoolboy hands also joined in prayer as an altar boy and almost seminarian until I noticed the magic and mystery of girls. I remember how my hands became clumsy and sweaty mitts on those first dates.
About the same time, I painfully discovered my inability to handle tools without injuring myself. Father wisely advised me that " I'd starve to death" if my future earnings depended upon me using tools, so I joined the Army. I became an expert with an M 14. Despite being an army bookkeeper, I fired at an unseen enemy de jour a few times. After Vietnam, my hands and heart embraced the love of my life and later a beautiful baby girl.
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Over the years my hands have guided my mind to a fruitful career with thousands of business and social handshakes. My hands have served as faithful assistants for seven decades in all the solemn, recreational, and routine activities of life.
In my Final Lap, I thank God and nature for my hands. I invite everyone to consider their versatile, delicate, and glorious hands.
My hands began as pink little paws grasping for mothers touch and warmth. After some time, my hands began to playfully grasp the hands of a loving sister, cousins, and playmates. A few years later, father guided my growing hands to successfully control a bicycle. Then, he helped while I nervously maneuvered the steering and stick shift of his automobile.
Miraculously, with the guidance and frowns from patient nuns, the fingers of my right hand were trained to write the alphabet in flowing cursive. At the same time, my hands occasionally clenched into fists to battle other boys in long forgotten disputes. My schoolboy hands also joined in prayer as an altar boy and almost seminarian until I noticed the magic and mystery of girls. I remember how my hands became clumsy and sweaty mitts on those first dates.
About the same time, I painfully discovered my inability to handle tools without injuring myself. Father wisely advised me that " I'd starve to death" if my future earnings depended upon me using tools, so I joined the Army. I became an expert with an M 14. Despite being an army bookkeeper, I fired at an unseen enemy de jour a few times. After Vietnam, my hands and heart embraced the love of my life and later a beautiful baby girl.
,
Over the years my hands have guided my mind to a fruitful career with thousands of business and social handshakes. My hands have served as faithful assistants for seven decades in all the solemn, recreational, and routine activities of life.
In my Final Lap, I thank God and nature for my hands. I invite everyone to consider their versatile, delicate, and glorious hands.
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