Hands

My father has big, strong hands. They are calloused and weathered and stained, yet so warm. On the surface they are an amalgamation of scars, shadows of experience. I have heard their stories since I was first old enough to ask “What’s that one from?” My father’s hands are his story; they are a guarded exterior, strength, skill, and the warmth that is his gift to the world. Every mark is a memory. When I look at my hands, I want to see in them as rich a history as in my father’s.

I came to the academy in the summer of ’07, just over a month after graduation, and in the first few hours, my hands became acquainted with the dirt. My hands became stained with the dirt of Jack’s Valley and slipped on the sweat pooled on the floors of the dormitory hallways. I froze my fingers into the snow on Stillman field and ground away the rocks of the landing zone with my knuckles. In my first two years at USAFA, I learned to fly in the silent bliss of a glider, completely powerless on its own. In silent bliss I learned that I had the tools at my disposal to go anywhere I desired, yet at they same time, that I could not get there on my own.

In those moments of powerless flight, looking out over Colorado Springs, the mountains, and the academy, I realized the vastness of the world around me. In my tiny craft I became simultaneously aware of the paralyzing limit of my experiences. From my tiny bubble with wings, I looked out on the world and knew that I had to find out more. I saw my hands clutching the stick as if I could somehow change the inevitable descent back to Earth. I saw the immaculate state of my hands. How could I lead even the smallest contingent with so little knowledge of the world around me?

I realized my call and my desire to extend my hands in another direction before returning them to the cockpit. I needed some new marks on my hands, some more dirt, more sweat, and most of all service. There began the journey to change the defining scars on my hands. The marks left behind by this year are already deeper – and they will not dwell on the surface of my hands alone, but also in my heart. My hope is to return better prepared to take on responsibility and to accept leadership within the squadron. With new strength and determination I will tackle the challenges of cadet life whole-heartedly.