We were discussing hard-working hands over Thanksgiving dinner, after my sister became annoyed that the men were handling bowls she had warned us were hot. Are you also ambidextrous and able to pick up a bowl of oven-hot food?
-jsw
Those scars are called Crapsman Love Taps. '79-80 is when I lost my pound of flesh and gallon of blood to the new Chiwanese steel, before they re-sourced once again. Grr.
I'm definitely ambidextrous, but no longer oven-safe. I've lost a lot of callus over the past year+, since retiring.
I can still see the scars across the back of the fingers on my left hand courtesy of a dull jack-knife when I was 13. The scars from the coping saw on my knuckle from when I was 12 is almost totally gone - at 65. My right ring finger is about 25% wider than the left one at the tip courtesy of my Snap-on air hammer 30 years ago and still reminds me on my stupidity when it gets cold. Most of the other miscalaneous divots and gouges pretty well fade into the back-ground.
It's only been a few years now that my right wrist doesn't remind me on a regular basis about being shattered for the second time by the gearshift of an old Chevy pickup back when I was 17 (I put it in reverse - bad gear kicked the lever back and re-broke the wrist Ihad broken a year and a half earlier. Between the 2 breaks it made my apprenticeship as a mechanic something of a painfull process - and driving the floor shift Mini and Power-Wagon tow truck interesting - - - .
Just before my 1st birthday, my 13-month-older sister was ironing my hand with Mom's iron. At some point, I fell asleep and she plugged it in. Mom has a picture of the scab covering the back my right hand with me reaching for an Alaskan crab. The scab and crab are the same orangey black color. That scar is entirely gone now.
Ditto mine.
Oh, ouch. And the agony of rebreaking the same bone must have hurt, too.
Dad took me shooting at the Base range one time and an acquaintance had his .30-06 that day. I was ten and the guy asked if I wanted to shoot it. Of course, I did, and he told me to hold it a little bit away from my shoulder. Dad didn't correct him and it knocked me on my ass. OMG, it hurt so much I cried in front of them, and I couldn't use that arm for over a week. Years later, a doctor taking x-rays asked if I'd broken my collar bone in the past, as it didn't look quite right. I never did forgive either of those SOBs for it, and it's still "not quite right". AFAIK, I've never broken a bone (knock on wood) and hope I never do. I've had two cracked bones (12th rib and outer metatarsal, neither visible on x-ray)
AFAIK, I've never broken a bone (knock
2 or three broken toes , broken wrist, and 2 crushed fingers. The wide one was bone meal, the one beside it was in 3 or 4 pieces from the last joint to the tip. Thankfully both joints still work, and surprisingly they are NOT the ones curling from arthritis.The first time I broke the wrist I didn't know it was broken (small bone, - I think it was the capitate?) but it hurt like hell. When I broke it again they x-rayed and said it was previously broken - which means I didn't get workman's compensation for the "work related" injury because the first break was not work related - - -
I've diced my thumb tip halfway off once with a gristly piece of meat and a nice, freshly-sharpened knife. Didn't even feel it until my thumb shifted on its own. Rinsed in fast water/soap, put in some triple antibiotic cream, butterflied it down, and bandaged it up. It was as good as new in 2 weeks, with not much pain, except when it hit something.
Suckage.
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