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  • His hand was like a two-by-four, and my hand was like a stuffed animal. I was a bit in awe of how tough this 90 year old man was. I gripped a bit harder as to not feel so weak in his grip, but it only gave away my lack of confidence and he gripped harder crushing my hand in his grip.

    I never realized how soft I had become until I shook the hand of my ninety year old great-uncle. This man had lived a life doing hard labor, the likes of which I had not seen in years. There was so much communicated in his calloused grip - a complete story of his life, his labor, and his confidence.

    I didn't have any of that.

    I'd been happily at work on my computer, delicately handling increasingly smooth computer input devices. In the rare occasion where I was required to do some physical labor, I'd always put on a nice pair of gloves for protection. Even the callouses I had from writing and drawing as a child had started to fade away. I probably even put lotion on my hands daily to keep them nice and smooth.

    I decided then that I needed more than just the delicate touch on a keyboard, the click of a mouse, and swipes on glass.

    I needed a few callouses of my own, and a grip that will let me crush some sense into some young, unsuspecting, soft-handed fool.
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