With Father’s Day approaching, I miss my Dad so much. He always said I was his Father’s Day present (my birthday is the 18th). What will you write about your Dad? Or will you write about something else from the prompts? Here’s my story to help get you started…
Daddy’s Hands by Theresa Duncan
For most of his life, my Dad carried tools in his hands, usually a hammer. A carpenter by trade, Daddy was always building something at work or at home.
His large hands could envelope mine all my life. His fingers seemed permanently bent in a curl, as if he never quite put his hammer down. Daddy’s hands would get so dark in
the summer when he worked outside. His arms had three separate skin tones, with his hands being the darkest beneath a line at his wrist, then a line above his elbow from short-sleeve weather, and another tan line at his sleeveless t-shirt, for those hottest of Illinois or Florida summer days.
My Dad could build and fix anything with the simplest of tools. He always told my husband, also a carpenter, that all you need for nearly every job is a properly weighted hammer, a drill, a set of screwdrivers, a framing square, a hand saw, a 6 1/5 inch Skil saw with a sharp blade, and some other random small items, all of which fit into small tool box, which he also made of wood, using those tools with a dowel handle. He carried that box to work in his Chevy pickup every day. The truck had plywood boxes he’d made on each side, painted to match his truck, where he stored an assortment of nails, screws, extra saw blades, things like that. He always said, “This is all I need I can build a house with this, from framing to finish, even build the cabinets.” And he did just that for many years in Illinois, where he worked for Heap Construction.
When we moved to Florida, my parents managed motels. Dad was always fixing something, same tool box, same trusty hammer, same callused hands.
We moved to Arizona and Daddy started his own business, remodeling, building, and repairing homes. After a series of heart attacks, when his legs and his back were too weak to climb ladders and apply shingles, he traded his hammer and tool box for a set of golf clubs.
His hands had that same crimp when he passed away, like he never really put that hammer all the way down. I will miss my Dad every single day I draw breath. I carry many images of him in my mind, but the thing I see most often when I close my eyes is Daddy’s hands.
Going further… Your turn!
- Write something that brings your Dad to mind. Focus on one particular thing and really delve in to that memory.
- Not really into your Dad and memories of him? No problem. Write your image of what a good father would be like.
- If none of that sparks your writing interests, describe a scene between a man and a child that would work as a scene in your current, larger writing project.
- Still nothing? No worries. Write about something else.
If you wrote about your own father, share that memory with him. Edit what you wrote, print it out, and put it in his Father’s Day card. If he has passed away, read it aloud as though he is sitting with you.
If you chose one of the other options, send your writing to someone who would appreciate it. Get your words out there. Post them on your own blog or Facebook. Email them to a friend. Print them for your partner to read.
You can share it in the comments, too, if you like. (Please edit it to 600 words or less.)
Happy writing… ~T
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