Finger Play

Finger Play

From Chicken Soup for the Grandparent's Soul

Finger Play

Four-year-old Kayla nestled on Opa’s lap while he read their favorite Dr. Seuss book—again. As she fought sleep, her dimpled fingers plucked idly at the roadmap of veins ribbing the backs of her grandpa’s hands. First one, then another, she pulled each dark blue vein into a ridge and watched it melt back down.

Suddenly, she leaned forward for a closer look. Opa paused to watch as she inspected his weathered skin and compared it to her own baby-plump pink hand, touching first one, then the other. Satisfied at last, Kayla looked up.

“I think God must’ve practiced on you first, Opa,” she said. “’Cause he did much better making me!”

Carol McAdoo Rehme

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