Thick bulbous skin compressed by pressure and time moving in a linear, forward fashion. Abrasive attitude with upturned nose and scoff. Non-emotional, not compassionate. Hard. Five fingers on my left hand learning guitar, least of effected my thumb. Years down the line, follows my right hand when I start to learn fingerpicking, particularly, “Blackbird”. At that time, perhaps just my thumb and pointer. Later on, the other fingers followed – but not my pinky. Still haven’t learned to acquaint that one yet.
I remember my crew friends in high school having callouses on their hands. Destroyed by rope, the oars. Utterly destroyed. Shredded, painful red blisters. That’s the thing about callouses. They can blister bad at first. I remember being 14 or 15 at band practice, I didn’t have a pick and couldn’t find one and had to use a nickel, but it barely worked and I tried to opt for my thumb instead; Playing punk music on bass with just a thumb – The blister that formed was so large and burst twice, if memory serves. I remember the pain that brought. I remember looking at Tom at his drum set. Feels like someone else’s life that somehow just got linked to my own. I play 12s now. Play guitar still.