Columbia Pictures
I recently completed a $150 DNA test for a story I’m working on. Without going into too much detail, this is what I learned:
- I’m healthy. Of 36 diseases tested, I’m not a carrier of any problematic genes. Phew!
- I’m 99.9% European. That’s code for “white privilege.”
- I’m ordinary. For example, I’m a normal sleeper. And although we were all Born to Run, my muscles are more “sprinter” than “endurance” type.
- I got confirmation of what I’ve already observed. For instance, I don’t posses the bald gene, I’m not hairy, my ring finger is longer than my index, my second toe is longer than my big toe, I have wet earwax, and my skin is fair. Go figure!
- Genes are overrated. Like my favorite sci-fi move so eloquently proves, our genes do not define who we are or how we choose to live. Yes, DNA is important and can have a big impact on our circumstance. But it does not determine our destiny or who we chose to become with the cards we’ve been dealt.
That’s it for now. Stay tuned for the full story.
Blake Snow
See how my daughter is wearing her socks? I’m the only other person I know that does that, particularly if my ankles get hot.
Your ankles get hot? Yeah, my ankles get hot.
The complexing thing about this behavior, however, is that I haven’t “half socked” in years, certainly not since my daughter was old enough to notice. “Where did you learn to do that??!!” I asked in amazement the first time I witnessed her doing it. “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Why?” I followed up. “Because my feet were hot.”
Maybe my daughter did observe me doing it and followed suit. Maybe she saw some other weirdo do it and mimicked them. I don’t doubt other explanations.
But maybe, just maybe, my daughter did it because her genetics told her to. Maybe, just maybe, human offspring remember select quirks that having nothing to do with evolution and everything to do with social continuity.
As a father, it was an exhilarating connection that I imagine gets better with age.
The rascal you see pictured above is my 1 and a half year old, Maddie. Lindsey and I often call her “The Destructor,” because she’s so rambunctious.
She also teases her elder sister Sadie—quite frequently.
I first noticed Maddie’s habit several months ago. If the girls are ever meant to share something, Maddie will usually dangle it in front of her sister, then rip it away at the last minute with a cute little chuckle grunt. Like her mother, Sadie would never do something like this, nor does she find pleasure in doing so.
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