I have grown into my Grandmother Berry’s thumbs. Her thumbs were shaped like cobra heads, narrow at the joint and flat under the nail. Sometimes her nails would peak sort of like a roof, sharp and pitched. If I peel my thumbnail, they grow weak and peak also. No one has noticed my thumb’s resemblance to my grandmother’s thumbs so I feel they are a gift. My thumbs keep mygrandmother close and her memories fresh. Nana used to call her thumbs hitchhiker thumbs; she wasn’t very fond of them. As she aged her hands grew thin-skinned and delicate, blue veined under skin dotted with spots and freckles but her thumbs, through thinner still retained their cobra shape and could still stop a car for a ride into town.