Story by Jon Stalnaker AKA The Studebaker Dude
I remember seeing a picture of a Grampa’s hands. They looked a lot like mine do now. There was a touching story about how he worked hard all of his life, and it described all the grueling work he had done tending the fields and working his ranch and how he was always fixing things with those hands. Yet they didn’t represent a call for pity, but how they actually were gentle and full of love. Yes, they were what they used to call “care worn”, a phrase that was a respectful way of saying that they were all old and bent, with varicose veins and sunspots, and scars that were evidence of a life of hard work and troubles.
It was a beautiful tribute to the men that lived through the late 19th and early 20th centuries. It reminded me of my grandfather who was like that. He was a carpenter, and a hunter, and fisherman and worked well into his 80s. He earned every imperfection the hard way, and this grandson was nothing but proud of his example.
I wish I could claim such an honorable reason for my old man hands. Although I can be proud of my working years, it was hardly a life filled with plowing the fields and building my house with my own hands. I’m pretty sure the varicose veins are a gift of longevity but my bent fingers on my left hand are just a result of me being clumsy and not listening to the solid advice of my wife who knew it was a bad idea to shovel ice. That’s what I get for living most of my life in a portion of the world that was devoid of treacherous weather. I have bent fingers, not because I was not afraid to do something that needed to be done, but because I was foolish enough to try to clear ice that the sun ended up clearing in a few hours.
My other hand is another story altogether. I have what is known as Dupuytren’s Contracture. They say it is a genetic condition, and it has no cure. It is basically connective tissue that thickens and forms cords. It’s progressive and is certainly getting worse for me. Typically, it effects the ring or middle finger and sometimes progresses to the thumb. My friend Roger, who made my yellow Studebaker so pretty, had a very bad case of it. It got so bad that he could no longer handle tools with his hand and he was forced to give up his lifelong ability to build cars.
I know how bad it can get and expect that it won’t be much longer before I will need to get some relief. The Doctor that worked on my left hand noticed it and told me he can lessen it with surgery when I’m ready. It wasn’t really bad back then, but it is progressing, and it is spreading to my thumb. I’m not a big fan of the word surgery but I’m at the “thinking seriously about it” stage. I don’t mind having scars, but the thought of cutting me open certainly triggers a desire to procrastinate.
So, having these bent up hands is not exactly fun. Not because they make me look old or limit my activities, but they do ache a bit. It’s not a debilitating pain, just a constant ache that doesn’t go away. When it gets to be too much, I will get the surgery. It doesn’t affect my ability to type as I’ve never been trained to do that anyway. I really only use two fingers for that, and I don’t need to be fast at the typewriter. It does affect my piano playing, though.
I now have an (another) excuse for not being that good at the keyboard. I’m just going to call my hands “Old Man Hands”. They are how they are, not because I did anything spectacular in my 74 years on this planet, but I did use them with the intention of doing that which is productive, honest, and helpful to all that meandered in our shared locales.
It’s not stopping me from working out though. Right now, it’s just an inconvenience that I have to work around. However, it does look kinda cool.
