3 12 2008

In my job teaching gymnastics, I hold a lot of little kids’ hands. They walk on balance beams, they jump into the pit, they line up behind me; they hold my hand. Often they can only grip one or two of my fingers, or their hand fits entirely inside my palm and my fingers wrap down their wrist. They reach for me for safety when I ask them to step outside their comfort zone. Some hold loosely — to them I’m a gentle reassurance. Others hold tight — without me they would surely lose their balance and fall.

Every time I hold a child’s hand, I think of hands I’ve held. One set of hands I think of are my father’s:

I remember my hands only able to grip one or two of his fingers. They were always big and strong, the hands that I hoped to have when I grew up. Now, when small children reach for me, I wonder what they see, what they feel.

What do you think of when you hold hands with someone? Have you ever held mine? What do they make you think of?

(This is reposted from my livejournal.)




One response

13 12 2008

I think it totally depends on how you hold hands with the person. I remember when I was dating my first boyfriend, Sam, we always cupped hands. Then, at the town fair, I saw my best friend’s sister and her boyfriend holding hands with their fingers interlaced and I thought it was the most romantic thing I had ever seen. So the next time I was holding hands with Sam (at school, on the east stairwell), I remember loosening our hands and twining my fingers through his.

In general, I love holding hands because I have really small hands and I like feeling people’s fingers on the back of my hand when I can only get to their knuckle.

I love holding hands with my best friends too, because holding hands is a sign of love and I love them.

Your hands have always astounded me because I always expect them to be really rough from blacksmithing, but they’re actually quite soft and smooth. And they’re really quite beautiful.

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