Sunday 7 April 2013

THE HANDS

This is the story I heard on a grey Sunday morning.

"When I was a little girl I had a lovely doll pram, which I used to play with outside, pushing it up and down on the street all day long. I was so proud of my pram that I wanted everybody to see it. Suddenly, one of its wheels came off.  How sad it was, crying and very upset I went to see my mum hoping for some help. Calmly she said that dad would fix it for me in the end of the day after finishing his work. Patiently I waited and waited for him, when finally dad got home. He smiled and assured me he would fix my pram wheel after his dinner. He took his tool box and started to select some screwdrivers to fix my pram. I hardly could hold the screwdriver in my small hands, but I decided to do it myself. I tried very hard while my dad was watching me for a while. Gently with care and love my dad put his hands over mine, precisely screwing the wheel back to the pram, firm  and steady.

Many years have passed since then. I grew up, but I have not forgotten the hands that have guided me all the way through.