Thumb, pointer, middle, ring, pinky

There was a day in kindergarten when my punishment for some misbehavior was to sit in the cubbyhole of Mrs. Engel's desk during story time. That meant I couldn't see the pictures in the book when she held them up or any gestures that she made to help illustrate the story. The book she read that day named each of the fingers on a hand: thumb, pointer, middle, ring and pinky. I was devastated that I was under the desk doing by myself what I believed the others were doing together as she read the book.

I was reminded of that the other day during one of the political debates when there was much finger-pointing and it got me to thinking about the role of fingers in our lives. This comes at a time when the tips of my fingers are not as sensitive or adept as they once were and when many contemporaries are feeling joint pain.

Moving past the early finger stages of thumb sucking and learning to color then write, my fingers spent a great deal of time on the piano keyboard and for one brief period on the strings of a viola. My identity through high school was tied up with music and my plea was, “listen to what my fingers can do but please don't look at them” because I bit my nails.

After a year of majoring in music in college I realized that music was an avocation and I moved on to other things. Around that time I also stopped biting my nails and suddenly my fingers that I had been so proud of for what they could produce were actually pretty just in themselves. Cold winters now make my nails brittle and bring painful cracks to surrounding cuticles.

My fingers were employed as a maid at Howard Johnson's, drying silverware in the college mess hall, checking out library books and answering telephones. They adapted quickly from the ivories to the typewriter and computer keyboard. Working together they have wallpapered, painted and laid linoleum tiles, created with ink and watercolor, made snowmen, planted bulbs, massaged, prayed and changed diapers. They have waved hello and goodbye, shielded my eyes from the sun, done high fives in celebration, applauded great performances, cheered the home team, signed contracts, admittance forms and funeral books.

If you are like me you don't think much about fingers individually until something like a paper cut highlights one of them. Today rings are worn on all fingers not just the one I heard about while in the cubbyhole and now that I think of it, I’ll bet the book called it the little finger, not the pinky. My fingertips that once knew Braille now have a hard time threading a needle. I know people suffering from the pain of texting or repetitive motion or whose broken finger never healed right.

We’ve all known families where hand slaps and spanking were the norm. The headlines are full of trigger fingers and middle finger insults. In an era where public finger pointing is part of our news, be it political or entertainment, it is important in our own lives to remember that we can put our fingers together in a fist or extend our hand in greeting, friendship or reconciliation. Each week my musing comes out the end of my fingertips and is posted as a connection to whoever takes the time to click and read. Thanks for doing that.

Marilyn