Family Hands

Hands, like faces, can reveal much about our ancestry. Features are handed down, so to speak, from generation to generation. When I look at my own hands I see a small replica of my father's hands, even to lesions caused by too much sun. Except for my forefingers, which are a constant reminder of my maternal grandfather.

My son's hands are just like his father's, apart from my grandfather's fore fingers again. My daughter's hands are odd. It's not obvious unless it's pointed out, but her right hand is a version of her father's, while her left hand is smaller and slimmer and shaped like her paternal grandmother's.

I have always despaired of my not so pretty hands, but as I get older I am glad for them, and the memories they hold of two men I loved and admired, knowing that I have come from them.