We talk about choices. It is important to discuss the right time to use our strong hands. We talk about walking with hands in our pockets in the store so we don't touch things that are not our own. We do not run with our hands in our pockets because we need our hands to protect us when we fall (I made up a silly song for the Head Start Preschool kids for that part). We talk about when to use a comforting hand with a friend. We talked about using our strong hands for work but choosing to use our words instead of our fists when we are angry.
There is a psychological test called the Hand Test (Wagner, E.E., The Hand Test Manual for Administration, Interpretation and Scoring, Los Angeles: Western Psychological Services, 1962) that involves rating and evaluating peoples response to hands in various positions as a means to attempt to predict aggressive behaviors. The use of hands in different position got me thinking about our hands and how we use them. That thought would have probably laid dormant if I hadn't been leisure reading a Louis L'Amour novel at the time. I don't recall which one. The character in the story discussed that the 'hand shake' was performed with the right hand and was a reassuring gesture because it showed that the sword hand was empty. I don't know what Louis thought about being left handed. However, it got me thinking about what we say with our hands. It got me thinking about what my parents said to me with their hands.
When I was very young I often sat in my father's lap and played with his thumbs while he talked.
His hands were furry, more than most. His fingers were long and squarely tipped. I would play "Church and Steeple" and twiddle his thumbs round and about. "Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, whoops Johnny, whoops Johnny" was another favorite game. Once my father got his thumb stuck in the cup holder in the pew at church. I was probably playing with it at the time. He was very embarrassed by that. He had rough callouses on his palms from working in the garden or his shop. His hands were gentle and rarely spanked. My sisters may remember that differently. I was one of the younger kids in a large family. His hands were strong he could hold onto most anything he could grab onto. He wasn't a tall or big man and the strength in his hands always surprised me. He told me once that when he was young he had a habit of chewing his nails and if I think on it, I can remember him doing that once in awhile but not on a regular basis. In later years he had quite a tremor and it disturbed me to watch his hands fumble and struggle.
My mothers hands were smooth and long. Larry Wilkins once came up to me after recess and told me that my mother had the longest finger he had ever seen. My mother was a teacher and had recess duty and Larry was ...well Larry, so I am quite sure he was on the wrong end of her pointing finger. My mother would sit in the middle of the pew and if any of us kids were misbehaving we would soon feel a knuckle thunk us in the side of the head (NOT A RECOMMENDED PARENTING TECHNIQUE). With 6 kids it kept us in line. I also remember my Mother's hands kneading bread on the kitchen counter and sewing up britches on the couch. I remember her teaching me to follow the words in a book with my finger so I could look at the pictures and not loose my place. I remember her teaching my sisters cross stitch and knitting. I remember her carrying a coffee cup wherever she went. Mostly I remember her goodbye touch on my face before she died.
Hands can say almost anything. What will your children remember about your hands?
No comments:
Post a Comment