I have, as kathi has noted in some comments, VERY large hands. This little post is dedicated to her ;)
I am by no means ham-handed, but I do have hands the size of hams. When I hold an aluminum can — in either hand — you can't tell if it's Coke, Pepsi or beer, for that matter.
My hands are fairly deft and dextrous. They aren't quite nimble, but they're far superior to serviceable. I can write with them; used to be pretty able with the left hand, even though I'm right handed. I can write backwards and upside-down. I also can draw a bit, but haven't done it much in a long time, other than doodling a bit, which happens in meetings and the like.
My grip isn't as strong as it used to be, when I worked with my hands in physical labor on a much more frequent basis, being the son of a Chamorro blue-collar man who worked with his hands all the time and expected his sons to help out in that labor. That being said, I don't have a weak grip. It's just strong and solid now; no longer is it bone-crushing.
I still rock at the game "Mercy," because I have a relatively high threshold for pain AND the fact that my fingers are very bend — stretchy tendons, I've been told by medical doctors.
Because of the surface area of my palms, I can clap quite loudly. I can snap with either hand. I can deska an ear as good as an experienced Chamorro elder.
My fists are pretty big — naturally, given the size of the hands, overall. One fist is about the size of a child's head.
Because of various scrapes in my life — mostly from my younger days — my hands host a variety of small scars. Split knuckles from fights. Scrapes from a wipeout on a skateboard, or a rough landing from jumping a bike off a huge ramp. Scratches from silent fights in church with my younger brother — who had wicked sharp fingernails back then. Cat claws. A puppy's too-eager bite. The nip of a prairie dog (long story there; I need to post that one sometime). Paper cuts. A fishook. Sharp, jagged metal. Pencil jabbing. Wall punching.
Hey — I wasn't always as smart as I am now. LOL
I broke my middle finger on my right hand in the 9th grade. Was playing a game of tackle football — no pads — during gym class. It snapped 90 degrees inward, lapping over my index finger, pointing inward. It was pretty painful when the doctor reset it, jerking it back the other direction and then pulling it out until the bones lined up. That's how I learned to be pretty good at writing with my left hand.
Random Guam Fact Of The Day:
• The Chamorro word for "hand" is "kannai."