Everybody in our family has different hands. My brother, my mother, and me have hands that are most alike. Our hands are ice cubes even on the warmest of days. Our hands will go numb on a fair forty-five degree day. My father’s, on the other hand, are as toasty as a meal straight out of the oven.
My father’s hands are like a snake's grasp, firm and tough. His hands are stern and serious like a politician giving a speech. My mother’s are shiny and slippery, always covered in lotion. Her hands are joyful and enthusiastic like Christmas Morning. My brother’s are long and thin like a giraffe's neck. His hands are funny like a comedian. And me, my hands are like a leaky faucet, always clammy and red. Mine are determined and quick-witted like predator catching prey.