I awoke one morning to find I had my father’s hands. We often hear others say, “you have your mother’s eyes,” or, “your father’s nose”. But this was different. Having my father’s hands meant much more to me. My father was an interesting man, he was hard-working and he was passionate, and he liked working with his hands. He was not the artist that his sister was, but all the same, he was creative. He was always tinkering on the cars, a lawnmower, or working on the house. I can remember him once making a BBQ pit from a clothes dryer; best damned BBQ you’ve ever had. My father worked for an oil corporation 7-5 for 45 years, but once a year, every Christmas,…