When he was small he loved to play with finger paints. It was something that connected us. It seems to me finger painting has been around forever.

When I was a child in school I loved squishing the paint in my hands. I loved the feel of it as I artistically created the masterpiece to be hung at the top of the chalk board in school or on my refrigerator at home.

It is the gift that goes with parenthood. You get to do it all over again.

And we did.

I could see his creative ways developing from the first time he could hold a crayon. Saturdays when we got to spend so much time together, we often played with finger paints. I promised myself that I would hold onto everything he created. It was a promise I could not keep.

Most of that stuff remained in the attic of his home long after I and his mother divorced.

That is until this Fathers Day.

I go through this every year. I declare, “Don’t spend a lot of money on me. My birthday is coming up in July and I don’t want you to buy me stuff. I have enough stuff. Give me something you made. Better yet, give me your time.”

We had dinner at Keith’s house and I loved every minute of it. I am so very proud of both my sons. I simply love them more then they will ever know.

We finished dinner and had just completed a fine dish of chocolate chip mint ice cream pie, when Keith handed me two packages.

The first was a beautiful t-shirt with seagulls on it. One was saying to the other, “I believe in you!” Perfect.

Then I opened the second one. It was a framed picture.

At the very top, in blue finger paints, were two small hands. Underneath, highlighted in yellow with red print, “Keith.”

Below, in the same blue finger paint, were his hands today.

I sat quietly as I looked at what he had done for me.

I held those tiny hands as we walked though the park and brushed off the sand on the shore. I kissed away the boo boos and bandaged the cuts and scrapes. I watched them carve the perfect pumpkin time and time again. I saw them catch a line drive ball and fumble a football or two. They rang the doorbells on Halloween and unwrapped the gifts that Santa left.

I held them on that sad, sad night that I tried to explain why I was leaving home.

But it was his 18 year old hands that frightened me the most. The doctor walked in and held his hand that day as he told us both that Keith had cancer.

As he stepped outside I turned toward Keith, grabbed his hands and tried to be strong but tear drops fell upon them as I realized I may lose him to the same disease that had taken almost everyone in the family who had cancer before him.

I touched those same hands through every chemo treatment he had and as he slept after his surgery that day.

Through God’s Mercy and Grace I have seen the beautiful work of those same hands through the years as he moved from finger paints to brushes.

I watched from the pew in the church as he joined his hands with the love of his life and that day shook the hands of a man.

In the years to come those hands will introduce me to a grandchild or two and finally in the end they will caress my old weary face as he gives me one last kiss goodbye.

My God, there is nothing on this earth that could possibly compare in value to the gift I got that day.

It hangs on the wall in my office tonight just to the left of my desk. Every night before I go to bed I will touch the hands of my child and say what I had always said to him back then, “Sweet dreams, see you in the morning, Dad loves you.”

God, thank you for the hands of my child and the hands of the man he has become.

You can see them by clicking on this link. Look at the first picture under “Family”

http://www.bobperks.com/Gallery/

Bob Perks Bob@BobPerks.com