David's Hands

I ask your forgiveness right up front. So to speak. But this morning I can’t help myself.

I’ve promised my blog posts will remain focused on the Civil War, writing, and sometimes family. Nothing political. Last summer I strayed, giving my thoughts about the venerable old Confedereate battle flag. Last night another of those “I can’t ignore this” tidbits came along.

Hands. Big hands, little hands. Short fingers, long fingers. And whether or not big or little hands reflect other size matters.

First of all, I cannot believe two serious contenders for the nomination to represent a major political party in this year’s Presidential election would ever, would ever, would ever, get into a literal “mine is longer than yours” spat on national TV. Holy Moly. How low can we go?

But I gotta admit, it was funny, too, in a comedy club sort of way. But never in a Presidential Candidate Debate sort of way.

Appropriateness of the venue aside, my wife and I and jillions of other tourists have gazed in awe at Michelangelo’s answer to that eternal question, the one so crudely addressed by two of our wannabe President candidates. That’s my wife Nita in Italy in 1999 staring up at David’s “hands.” He is so tall, I couldn’t get David and Nita both in the frame without turning the camera cock-eyed. I pretend she gazes at me in such a way.

The other photo came off the internet today. It’s seems David is getting a long-needed good scrubbing. The nasty little boy in me sure would like to see a photo of some pretty Italian lady, Sophia Loren maybe, taking a soapy brush to David’s…you know.

Okay, I got it out of my system. Enough of such juvenile silliness. I hope our Presidential candidates now feel the same.

Next week's post will be back to the Civil War.