My Grandfather's Hands
I remember that my grandfather's hands had always been scarred with calluses and had been
darkened by the years of exposure to the brutal Indian sun. The life he had led had roughened them, as
if they had been gritted by sand paper but he had always been proud of them. He used to say that his
hands mirrored his hard work and showcased his victories over his challenges. I could never understand
him because as I had looked at my own pair of hands, mine were still fresh and unscarred with naiveté.
My grandfather was born in 1940 to a family of seven. At the age of ten, he had already dropped
out of school and by eighteen he had started working as a tailor at a local clothing shop in his village. He
worked tirelessly as a tailor for about seven years, and only received twenty rupees (which is equivalent
to less than fifty cents) per day. The old sewing machine could be heard late into the night as my
grandfather's aching feet tapped the pedal determinedly.
His struggles were not futile, however, as he received a piece of land from his sister for his own.
With that, he slowly built up and managed to expand his lands and wealth. Each morning, he patiently
drove the oxen through the barren lands in order to cultivate it into farmland for rice and other crops.
He was also fond of helping others in his local village. He was the role model to many young people in
his small community. As years passed, I slowly started understanding why my grandfather cherished
those hands. These were the hands that had single handedly raised three sons through all those late
nights as a tailor. These were the hands that toiled long hours under the sun in order to place food on
the table. These were the hands that had managed to create a dynasty from a handful of soil.
Although my grandfather passed away a few summers ago, his own life's definition resonates
within me. My grandfather has taught me to take pride in all my work, even in my failures. He has also
bestowed me with patience and a drive to help others. I carry these values in my everyday life; I
volunteer at my local hospital and help organize events in our community. I work hard at school and try
to develop my interests outside of my classroom as well so that I can pursue my goal of becoming a
doctor.
I have learned that hard work never fails to attain success. I want to look at my own
unwavering hands twenty years from now, carrying a scalpel as I strive for my own goals in helping
others and hopefully I can look at my hands fifty years from now and see the same kind of scars,
evidence of my efforts and determination to never shy away from my failures and to accept life with
grace.
I remember that my grandfather's hands had always been scarred with calluses and had been
darkened by the years of exposure to the brutal Indian sun. The life he had led had roughened them, as
if they had been gritted by sand paper but he had always been proud of them. He used to say that his
hands mirrored his hard work and showcased his victories over his challenges. I could never understand
him because as I had looked at my own pair of hands, mine were still fresh and unscarred with naiveté.
My grandfather was born in 1940 to a family of seven. At the age of ten, he had already dropped
out of school and by eighteen he had started working as a tailor at a local clothing shop in his village. He
worked tirelessly as a tailor for about seven years, and only received twenty rupees (which is equivalent
to less than fifty cents) per day. The old sewing machine could be heard late into the night as my
grandfather's aching feet tapped the pedal determinedly.
His struggles were not futile, however, as he received a piece of land from his sister for his own.
With that, he slowly built up and managed to expand his lands and wealth. Each morning, he patiently
drove the oxen through the barren lands in order to cultivate it into farmland for rice and other crops.
He was also fond of helping others in his local village. He was the role model to many young people in
his small community. As years passed, I slowly started understanding why my grandfather cherished
those hands. These were the hands that had single handedly raised three sons through all those late
nights as a tailor. These were the hands that toiled long hours under the sun in order to place food on
the table. These were the hands that had managed to create a dynasty from a handful of soil.
Although my grandfather passed away a few summers ago, his own life's definition resonates
within me. My grandfather has taught me to take pride in all my work, even in my failures. He has also
bestowed me with patience and a drive to help others. I carry these values in my everyday life; I
volunteer at my local hospital and help organize events in our community. I work hard at school and try
to develop my interests outside of my classroom as well so that I can pursue my goal of becoming a
doctor.
I have learned that hard work never fails to attain success. I want to look at my own
unwavering hands twenty years from now, carrying a scalpel as I strive for my own goals in helping
others and hopefully I can look at my hands fifty years from now and see the same kind of scars,
evidence of my efforts and determination to never shy away from my failures and to accept life with
grace.
