I Found My Black History In Grandma’s Hands

Photo courtesy of the author.

Hands. Years ago, when my nearly 30-year-old daughter was closer to single-digit ages, I wanted to capture photographs of hands making and doing tasks. So I did. I created a sepia-toned set of photographs to display in my basement’s “play area.” My recently deceased grandmother’s hands lifting the lid on a pot of greens, my hands crafting a scrapbook, my daughter’s hands practicing for piano class—these…