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The Case of the Absent Parent DNAPosted Sunday, July 31, 2011, at 7:12 PM
Perhaps because we are descended from the apes, algae or whomever, we share similar DNA. We all, for example, have two eyes, a nose and hair, the need for love, shelter and entertainment, the need for food, for the good old pat on the back and for clean laundry and socks and maybe a vitamin or two.
Although still in the early testing stages, studies have shown that there was once some kind of parent DNA that has gone by way of the pager and the typewriter. Before it started getting phased out en masse around the seventies, it was so ingrained and encoded that it crossed borders and seas and made its way around the world.
Take the case of a man from south of the border whose mother had dominant parent DNA genes and wasn't afraid to show it. Before a certain incident during his young life, I didn't think our parents shared much of it, though I am now convinced. The place was somewhere in Mexico, the year back to a time before parents started befriending their kids shortly after they started weaning them onto solid foods.
Mr. South of the Border said that when he was an hombre of around eight or nine, he had a job cleaning the barn of a woman whose son was around the same age, but who was a bad hombre, either from nature, nurture, bad churros or maybe all three. The bad hombre approached him as he was cleaning and started laughing, making fun of the menial task and smacking him around a bit. On the way out, opened his mouth for one last laugh, but the door swung back and hit him on the face, and he ran home crying.
Moments later, the good hombre's mother appeared with fists clenched.
"But I didn't do it," he said while she slapped over the head. But his mother, apparently in full possession of the DNA, wasn't having any of it and continued slapping him while telling him that she was going to teach him a lesson.
My father must have shared some of this woman's deoxyribonucleic acid, although he was from Hungary and she from south of the border. Had that been me in the barn that day, he would have given me one across the shoulder, asked me why I put myself in that position, and wondered why he hadn't taught me better than that.
Mainly because of this, the good hombre and I never got in any real trouble, never cheated anyone, had a restraining order taken out against us, a credit rating below 650 or had our names and mugs appear in a police blotter.
On the positive side, it may help the labor force in the building of city jails and the purchasing of vending machines and deputies' uniforms and such.
I'm Not Crazy -- It's Them
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Behold, I, like many others before me, come forth with a new blog. Mine, however, starts off with posts about the joys and wonders of pepper spray then branches out to other maladies as well.
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