A few years ago, I had a conversation with a friend that developed into a blog post centered around one of my favorite things about my husband.
(I hear you snickering. Your mind= the gutter! 😀 )
I like work-roughened hands. Callused, hard-working hands. Whether they hold a hammer, a wrench, a blow torch, a steering wheel, pull electrical wire, lay cable, climb ladders, towers, or electrical poles.
Hard working hands say so much about a man, most especially that they’re not afraid of a hard, hot days’ work in the sun, or a long day spent in the cold.
Hands say a lot about a man.
Jack was awestruck as he held out his hands to gently receive his daughter, with just a little help from Emma, as the baby was born. Tears streamed from his eyes as he gazed on her cherubic little face for the first time. Rose Marie’s tiny chin quivered as she struggled to form her first howling cry.
Because I was in Doctor Emma’s point of view for this scene, from Their Divine Doctor, I couldn’t elaborate on what was going through Jack’s head, but I can tell you exactly what he was thinking as he took his daughter in his hands for the very first time…
“I hope I don’t hurt her with these rough ol’ hands.”
Ethan reached out a tender hand and stroked Rose Marie’s downy little head as tears sparkled in his bright, blue eyes and got caught in his lashes. His lower lip trembled almost imperceptibly as he whispered, “Well, you’re just as beautiful as your mama, aren’t you, honey?”
I can tell you that Ethan marveled at how tiny she was compared to his big hand. He was also overwhelmed that this little being was a tiny part of his Gracie.
Adam Davis was a very tall man and could easily have held Rose Marie in one of his large hands. This gentle giant placed a hand on the baby’s back and in a shaky voice said, “Look at those little rosebud lips. She’s the image of her mama.”
And Adam… He was mostly terrified of dropping her the first time he held her. He even made himself a little light-headed imagining that. It was a long while before he could really relax any time he held his daughter. (Of course, readers know that nowadays it’s him that is wrapped around her chubby little fingers. 😀 )
I’m not saying that the hands of a man who works in front of a keyboard, holds a pen, dry erase marker, or a book are less sexy. They get just as busy with other pursuits that rough those hands up when not earning a living, or at least I hope they do.
This topic leads me to a side note.
If you know a boy, a teenager, or a young man, please teach them the importance of a good, friendly, but firm hand shake.
Make sure they know to be gentle with the elderly, tender but solid with the ladies, and firm but not a pissing contest with men.
Few things turn me off more than a man who has a limp handshake. It makes a long-lasting negative first impression so teach those boys not to do that, okay? 😀
I’d blogged on the subject of a man’s hands a few years ago and in the process of re-treading the article for the enjoyment of the Divine Divas, I realized I had more to say on the subject.
The article (from January 2012) wasn’t a long one, but this was a part I wanted to share…
Years ago, I held my [then] fiancé’s hands as we struggled with the death of someone very dear to us. That day I was struck by the gentle strength of his grasp. I think that’s what fascinates me most about a decent, hard-working man’s hands. Power, tempered by gentleness. The same hands that can control a large, recalcitrant animal can cradle the tiniest infant in safety. They are just as valuable for expressing love or passion in a story as any other body part or spoken words. They stroke, grasp, heal, protect and tremble, saying so much without words.
Those same manly hands are working overtime these days, doing the electrical wiring and audio/video wiring on our new home, as well as many other tasks. He’s a Jack-of-all-trades. This is just one more thing to love about him.
What do you think? Is it just me with a weird “hand fetish”? Do you feel the same way? Do my descriptions in books of a hero’s rough but gentle hands do something for you, too?
~H
Thank you Heather, that was beautiful. I love holding Mr G’s hand, it’s comforting, loving, strong but gentleness and safety! Hands tell a lot about a man!
I couldn’t agree more about a limp handshake, just not right!
My father always did all the repairs on the rigs, the farm implements. Drove the rigs, worked the farm and helped built two homes. His hands were always rough, strong but when it came to us kids they were gentle you knew you were safe. He still holds my hand, I’m now 47 and still I feel safe and loved!
Thank you, Nessie! What a wonderful legacy and example type dad has been. Simple things like being willing to take time to hold someone’s hand can have a life long impact. (((Hugs)))
Growing up, my dad’s hands fascinated me. I imagined they were the size of catcher’s mitts. As I grew, I KNEW they were catcher’s mitts. He caught me and lifted me back up more times than I can count. They were rough. He worked with his hands from sun up til sun down, and at times, long into the night tinkering. Looking back now, nearly 25 years after his passing, the first thing I recall is his hands. I watched those hands fiddle on an engine in the dead of winter to get it to start. I saw those same hands gently cradle a week old fawn to his chest as he soothed the frightened animal into calmness. I always felt a sense of safety from him, but the day I got married I felt a slight tremor in those strong hands as he placed mine into my husband’s. I feel that same safety in Bryce’s as I did my dad’s. He may not have the same calluses but he does have some….plus the gentleness.
Now, I can help pass that legacy off to my grandson.
Stacy Wilson
Stacy, thank you for sharing your memories of your dad. I could practically see him as you described him and you even made me misty-eyed. He created a wonderful loving legacy which I know Bryce has continued with your kids and your precious grand baby. ♥♥♥
Heather he is SO much like my dad it isn’t funny. I even call him Herman at times. 😛
Stacy
Heather, that was beautiful. I love holding hands with my husband of twenty-nine years. I look at his hands, they are weathered, have a few scars, and are older that they were the day I married him, but it reminds me of everything those hands have done for me. Holding my hand as we spoke our vows, two young kids taking on the world. His hands grasping mine tightly as I brought five beautiful children into our family, the last two being delivered right into his strong, loving hands. My husbands hands held mine tenderly when the grief of losing my mother overwhelmed me, he brought me peace that no one else could. Today, he holds my hand as we face another challenge together, cancer. I know I can fight anything and win as long as he holds my hands in his strong, loving ones.
I had someone ask me the other day if I was sometimes embarrassed by my Hubby’s hands when we go out. My reply was….why? She said he always has cuts on them and they are all calloused. I love Michael’s hands, for 30 years now those hands have provided a living, repairing appliances, fixing cars, doing home improvement projects, cuddled me in the dark of the night and held our sons and grandsons. Oh, the stories those hands tell. Thanks for the blog, Heather!!
You are so right, the feel I get from a handshake with a man or a woman goes a long way in the way I see that person. I shudder when I feel a limp or damp handshake, speaks of character. I taught my son to shake hands and look the person in the eye. Looking at somebody’s hands can tell a story the same way a face can, it is fascinating. My Father was the role model in what I was looking for in a man, he worked with his hands and did so many things, but was gentle especially with me, his baby girl. Hubby has huge hands, calloused by work and when he holds me, I feel cherished and protected.