Hands

Babies come wired to connect through their hands

As a child, I would lay my head in my mother’s lap during church and play with the veins protruding from her hard-working hands. I was fascinated by the way those veins, no matter how many times I would press them down, would spring back up to form bumpy, crisscrossing lines. Even 40 years ago, Mom’s hands were a bit gnarled and weather-worn from doing more than her fair share of manual labor. In fact, they were already beginning to show some age spots. But hands such as hers were underrated and undervalued.

During that same era, Palmolive Dishwashing Liquid ran T.V. commercials featuring beautiful, soft, feminine hands. At the mention of "dish soap," you would see a woman's delicate hand quickly pulling out of a little glass bowl filled with green liquid. It was as if the woman feared soaking her hand in soap would do her permanent damage. Then Madge, the manicurist, would gently reinsert the hand in the bowl, reassuring the woman that Palmolive actually softened hands, even when doing the dishes. 

Right! 

My mother did stacks and stacks of dishes, probably even using Palmolive occasionally, but that never gave her soft, model hands. In contrast, her hands' ropey blue veins and uneven brown marks are indisputable evidence that she did something other than sit around and soak her hands. They were signs that she worked and played. In short, one look at her hands, and you knew my mom really lived!

Some rely almost solely on their hands to tell their stories. Last weekend I spent several hours with deaf friends who speak American Sign Language. Fortunately, I know a little ASL. One of my friends is not only deaf but also going blind. So, to communicate with her, I have to make signs in the palms of her hands. That way, she can literally feel what I am trying to say. As I spoke with her, I thought about how much more I might feel and how much better I could understand people if I just took the time to observe their hands. 

I thought of another friend, a hearing friend, who seems to speak volumes just by the way she moves her hands while she talks, laughs, teaches, plays the piano, and leads music. Indeed, her hands are so expressive that I can just watch her hands and almost hear what’s in her mind and heart. 

Clearly, hands provide a powerful extension for us to express ourselves. Imagine, for example, a dancer fully expressing herself without her hands, or picture an athlete celebrating a victory without using his hands.

Hands allow us not only to communicate more clearly but also to connect more closely with people. Consider newborn children, for instance. They come into this world wired to immediately clutch their little hands around our fingers. As they grow, these babies become fascinated with their own hands, spending hours looking at their fingers move. Later, they use those same hands to grab their mother’s face, forcing her to look them in the eye and pay attention. Our human need to connect and bond using our hands we never really outgrow. 

To establish trust, we shake hands—even with perfect strangers—as a matter of custom and courtesy. One of my friends who doesn’t much care for hugs allows me to pat her back or leg a few times just so I can express comfort without using words. And who can forget the strong, unspoken connection they felt the first time they held hands with a boyfriend or girlfriend?

I admit to admiring beautiful, blemish-free hands, but I’ve always been most attracted to hands that tell a story. I love hands that give language to what’s in a heart and hands that connect with mine.