Talking with the Hands

Did I mention that Terry loved to talk?

I might have forgotten to mention something else.
Terry also talked with his hands.

Not a little bit.
Not politely.

Those hands were fully involved in the storytelling process. They lifted, stretched, circled the air, and occasionally threatened nearby fragile objects. Terry himself seemed completely unaware of this choreography. To him, the hands were simply part of the conversation, like commas and exclamation points floating around his words.

One afternoon he was telling me a story with particular enthusiasm. I came over and sat down directly in front of him. Very calmly, I reached forward and took both of his hands in mine.

He stopped mid sentence and looked at me with genuine confusion.

I smiled and said, “Honey, please continue. I am listening. I am interested.”

He tried.

Truly, he tried.

But without his hands, the story had nowhere to go. The words stalled somewhere between his brain and his mouth. After a few awkward seconds he looked down at our joined hands, then back at me. His eyes narrowed slightly.

Then he understood.

We both burst out laughing.

Once he caught his breath, he asked why I had done that. I quietly pointed toward the table beside him.

There sat a perfectly innocent glass of water.

Let us just say that Terry’s hands and nearby beverages did not always enjoy a peaceful relationship.

More laughter followed.

Terry once explained his storytelling style in an email I helped him type to a friend. He wrote that when he tells a story, his mind “sez to his mouth to embellish.” According to Terry, it simply made the story better.

He gave the example of the lemons at his mother’s house.

Apparently those lemons grew larger every time he told the story.

His friend replied with great delight. He remembered Terry holding his hands about a foot apart from his shoulders and declaring with full confidence, “The lemons are this big.”

The friend admitted he knew the lemons were not that big. Not even close. But the enthusiasm was so sincere, the performance so committed, that the exaggeration became part of the joy.

After that, whenever Terry stretched the truth just a little, the friend would simply ask one question.

“How big were the lemons?”

It became their standing joke.

And honestly, that feels about right.

Terry has always had a gift for making people smile. The stories may grow a little with time, like summer tomatoes in a generous garden. But the laughter they produce is very real.

That part is never an exaggeration.