Fingerprintless

Tonight after spending just a bit of time in the dirt, I washed my hands and felt that same familiar feeling of dryness. The soil around here is just so full of clay and sand, that it really does a number on lady softness--not even a bathtub full of Palmolive dish soap could help.
That familiar feeling was almost like hands-a-vu, and it took me back to one of my most proud moments, (A column might come out of this, wait and see) when I was being fingerprinted for a substitute teaching job about 7 years ago.
Our garden was in full swing and my hands were really taking it hard. Dry, cracked, the works.
While being fingerprinted using the fancy digital machine, the woman could not get a good print. She tried, over and over, and at one point exclaimed, "you've got hands like an old man!" and tossed a bottle of Corn Husker's Lotion at me.
I'm still proud of my "old man hands," because they're hands that actually work and feel the good earth (albeit poor soil.)
Eventually she got the fingerprint and while my substituting career was interrupted by becoming a mother again, I may someday return. And maybe then, when I have those ears for a few hours of one day, I can tell them the value of a good hard work, cracked hands, and of course, Corn Husker's Lotion.