Posted: March 18, 2018 in Uncategorized

I look down at my hands,
And I’m surprised…
Suddenly they are old.
How did that happen?
Somehow, I now have my Dad’s hands.
I wear the same wrinkles and spots.
I feel the same hurts.
There are calluses and scars on my tired hands.
But, these used hands still have stories to tell.

I look down at the hands of my granddaughter,
They are new and unblemished…
chubby and dimpled.
They are ready to reach out and grab hold of the world.
And when they do, I will be there, loudly applauding for her with my old man hands.

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