tamera pierce
Stories (1/0)
The Hands of Those I Love
The Hands of Those I Love I remember growing up and hearing my mother play “Daddy’s hands,” on the radio and I always found it funny because neither of us were raised by our fathers. We would sing that song as if we knew the feeling of having our father pull us in for a hug, or holding us when we had a nightmare, but neither of us knew what it actually felt like. In a way, we did because we were raised by the same man, my great grandfather, but the both of us knew it wasn’t the same. He was a great man who did everything he could for the both of us, but there was always a pit in the bottom of my stomach that would grow deeper and deeper every time he tried to fill the void my dad had left. My great grandfather was never meant to play the role of my dad, but I respect him for trying.
By tamera pierce3 years ago in Families