Brewer Chronicles - Dad's Hands

When I was in high school, we had a Father-Son Banquet. Other than funerals, I think that was the only time I saw my dad with a tie. I could feel that it was not a comfortable place for him.

As we were eating, I noticed, really noticed, my dad's hands. He was a farmer and lumberjack (since age 14) all of his life. His hands told his history well. His massive hands with his scarred and gnarly knuckles chronicled his manliness. I have seen them covered in grease as he cared for his equipment.

I watched him tenderly assist animals during birthing struggles. His tenderness to dying animals surely helped them through their passing.

I noticed my dad glance at the hands of the man sitting next to him. He was one of the local business men that had been sheltered from most of the physical demands. I saw dad look at his hands and drop them into his lap. I immediately felt this deep love and sympathy for him - not because of his hands, but his lack of pride for them.

Those hands have had major impacts in my life. With those hands, he patiently showed me how to prepare and repair so many of those things on the farm. He taught me how to balance strength with tenderness.

I look at my hands and they seem so inadequate in comparison to his beautiful hands.