the genes we share

Tonight I was at school conferences with James.

We were not in bathing suits. It's become cold! We had on sweaters.

We met his teachers. They all are personable and positive, in general and also specifically about James and the classes.

This is all good. I talked to a couple of Maria's teachers too, and they were equally happy to discuss that girl and her education.

The French teacher is sweet, has both of them in different classes, and is as elegant as a French teacher would be.

They asked about the grown kids. The phy. ed. teacher wanted to hear about Kirsten. Ms. Berg asked about John, who has been gone from that place for at least twelve years now.

Anyway, as James and I were standing around waiting, I mentioned to him how these occasions amuse me--looking at how much people look like their kids, how the families go together.

The distinctive arched nose, the full, pointy lips, the stride--recognizable generation next.

At preschool years ago there was a mom and daughter duo who looked so alike--fair skin and dark hair, distinctive dark eyebrows, freckles, sparkly denim blue eyes.

I mentioned this to the mom as the kid played off to the side, and she said, "People say this to us all the time. The freaky thing is that we went through adoption process. She and I are not genetically related at all. I take it as an extra sign we were meant to be."

No doubt.

But as it is, these guys are genetically related.

This is the So Serious picture Alicia mentioned. I have no idea why he's so sober. Nothing has gone wrong, everything is same as ever, okay.


And this is the picture of Dan at age 7. This picture has a story.

Of course.


John got a guinea pig for his birthday that year, and named him Nibbles.

Dan's birthday was in August, and we kept our eye on a lovely guinea pig until closer to his birthday.

We brought him home, named him Rusty, and he died within days.

We don't know why. Nothing happened to him, that we know of. Later we wondered if Nibbles was preventing Rusty from getting to the water, but we'll really never know.

While I was getting ready that morning, Dan was in the hallway, with his scratchy, chirpy voice, "Rusty just won't wake up."

I was a kid then too about 25? I thought, "Oh, Dear GOD, help me get through this without screaming."

I told him to bring Rusty so we could see. Dan had him cuddled on his chest, and as soon as I put my hand on Rusty, I knew.

It's a sad thing to tell a child. He was surprised, and baffled, and sad.

We had a respectful burial on the hill.

The next week we went to the pet store with the story, and chose another guinea pig and I insisted on an entirely separate cage. The guy tried to convince me that two male guinea pigs could live in love and peace, man.

I listened for a few minutes and then said, "Are you trying to prevent me from buying this cage?"

He said no. I paid him the $68.

So we came home with this guinea pig, and an entirely separate housing arrangement, one that would not lead to death.

Dan named him Marty, probably after Marty McFly from Back to the Future, which John played incessantly by VCR back then.

So.

We have your Dan. With the Marty on his chest.

And a face full of ambivalence.

Marty had an amazing plume and was a fairly cool guy who lived for many years. Our attachment grew, but on this day, it was a little uncertain.

Marty had personality--the way he slammed his water bottle around in the dark, his wild red hair. He was okay.

All right. Look at this picture if you want, and tell us which parent b.g. resembles more. I love those random combinations of traits, familiar and different every time. love you all so, Mom