His Hands

I remember watching dad work on cars when I was little and seeing his hands covered with grease and oil, but still looking so perfect. I always thought he had such handsome hands but never really told anyone, or even him. Sometimes when we were just sitting, watching TV or something, I'd look over at them resting on the couch or holding the remote and think "Those are my dad's hands. I love those hands". They were so big and strong but still seemed so gentle.

When I was a little girl, he would always reach his hand out for me to hold when we were crossing the street, or I would reach for his hand even when we were just walking somewhere. I guess as I got older, it became less and less cool to hold your parent's hand..so I stopped reaching for it.

He would hold Alisa and I by our ankles with his hands, face us away from him, run around the house, and act like we were going to crash into the wall but STOP just in time, and say "eeerrrrrrkk...!!!" He drew really cool pictures with his hands, played the sax, cooked the best cheese eggs, cut holes in the walls to save Alisa's hampster, pull my ponytail, give me high fives and say "high five!". When I was REALLY little, we would thumb wrestle and even though my hands were half the size of his, I'd still somehow beat him...so I thought.

I even remember him telling us the story over and over about how when he first started dating my mom, he acted like he pinched off her nose and said "I got your nose" and made a fist but put his thumb between his index and middle fingers and held it up to her face...not knowing that in Korea, that's apparently how you flick someone off. Next thing he knew, she yelled "how can you do that me!?!?" and started crying. He, of course, loved that story and would laugh so hard whenever he told it.

They were the best hands. They were my daddy's hands. And I can't wait to take a long walk with him again, hand in hand.

Thanks for letting me win all those thumb wars, daddy. I love you.

-Diane