My dad and I have the same hands. Big, dry, and rough. My mom on the other hand has soft, small, and soothing hands like a warm blanket, a warm bath, a warm cup of coffee on a winter day. My dad and I both have fat fingers like sausages. They carry heavy things, get dirty, they have the feeling of touching cold cement. They’re dry like the sand on a sunny summer day. But, my hands are alive and active unlike my fathers, tired and down. My hands are like a puppy that just received his first toy, like a child scoring his first goal. Mom's hands make my lunch, Mom's hands help me when I'm struggling in school.