Genetic musings.

Families are odd. The genes that get passed along are even odder.

My paternal grandfather died when my father was about 10, which means I never knew him, only the stories my father & his sister told about him. He was a quiet, dreamy, gentle man but any story my aunt told was likely to be highly coloured & to be taken with a large grain of salt. However this one has the sad ring of truth about it. She argued her brothers were a little wild. They were prone to perching my father, as the youngest of 5, in the avacado tree where his job was to swing a jam tin full of pebbles for his brothers to shoot at with their .22's. Eventually their antics drew the attention of at least one parent; my grandmother. My grandmother was of strong Scottish stock, a no nonsense sort of woman who was staunchly Church of Christ but redeemed by her cooking. Her predjudges ran deep.

"John!" My grandmother insisted. "Do something about your boys."

"Yes, Dorothy...And what would you like me to do?"

This tendency to oblivion in the midst of turmoil runs deep. My aunt painted through 8 decades of family drama. Her children say she would surface occassionly, smack everyone soundly as the fairest means of settling an arguement impartially, & sumberge back into her art. My husband insists I can read through any amount of chaos & never notice & I wrote my first book through 4 children under 5. I have a cousin with 5 boys who sits placidly doing cross stitch while her sons play Tarzan through her house. It is a genetic predisposition. It has an equal & opposite reaction in the next generation. They tend to be very practical & live in the moment children. It makes for an interesting mix. There's never a dull moment.