{"id":2335,"date":"2012-06-17T07:11:10","date_gmt":"2012-06-17T12:11:10","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blog.hulettsonlakegeorge.com\/?p=2335"},"modified":"2012-06-17T07:11:10","modified_gmt":"2012-06-17T12:11:10","slug":"happy-fathers-day-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.hulettscurrent.com\/index.php\/archives\/2335","title":{"rendered":"Happy Father’s Day"},"content":{"rendered":"

My Dad’s Hands<\/strong><\/p>\n

Bedtime came, we were settling down,
\nI was holding one of my lads.
\nAs I grasped him so tight, I saw a strange sight:
\nMy hands. . .they looked like my dad’s!
\nI remember them well, those old gnarled hooks,
\nthere was always a cracked nail or two.
\nAnd thanks to a hammer that strayed from its mark,
\nhis thumb was a beautiful blue!
\nThey were rough, I remember, incredibly tough,
\nas strong as a carpenter’s vice.
\nBut holding a scared little boy at night,
\nthey seemed to me awfully nice!
\nThe sight of those hands – how impressive it was
\nin the eyes of his little boy.
\nOther dads’ hands were cleaner, it seemed
\n(the effects of their office employ).
\nI gave little thought in my formative years
\nof the reason for Dad’s raspy mitts:
\nThe love in the toil, the dirt and the oil,
\nrusty plumbing that gave those hands fits!
\nThinking back, misty-eyed, and thinking ahead,
\nwhen one day my time is done.
\nThe torch of love in my own wrinkled hands
\nwill pass on to the hands of my son.
\nI don’t mind the bruises, the scars here and there
\nor the hammer that just seemed to slip.
\nI want most of all when my son takes my hand,
\nto feel that love lies in the grip. <\/p>\n

David Kettler<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My Dad’s Hands Bedtime came, we were settling down, I was holding one of my lads. As I grasped him so tight, I saw a strange sight: My hands. . .they looked like my dad’s! I remember them well, those old gnarled hooks, there was always a cracked nail or two. And thanks to a … <\/p>\n

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