My Father's Hands

My father has amazing hands.  He can build almost anything.  He can fix practically everything.  He held me when I was first born.  At the beach, he would tuck me under his arm and run through the surf to swim "past the breakers."  He built a bookcase hutch with me sitting nearby and the whole time I thought it was for my mom, but it was really for me.  He built my childhood bunk-bed.  He taught me how to drive a stick-shift.  He showed me how to set up a tent.  He taught me how to wash the dishes.  He pulled out my baby teeth.  He put band-aids on my knees.

In February, his hands were hurt in a power tool accident.  The doctors warned his fingers might have to be amputated.  He is a dentist and self-employed and didn't know if he could work again.  Only three weeks later, he was back in the office doing "easy" cleanings.  

Now, 9 months later, we got to see his hands for the first time since the accident.  Some of his joints are fused and he lost some of his fingernails, but he can use them.  He is still a dentist.  He is still a carpenter.  He still has my father's hands.