Genes are fascinating. Some time ago, I noticed that DNA mavins can now tell what you inherited from which parent. What you inherited, that is, as far as locational DNA. Like I have Scottish genes through both my parents, but English through only my father.

Genes are fascinating, but more fascinating to me are the traits, the attitudes, the propensity to enjoy one activity over another ……………. those are the traits that mean something.

These likes and dislikes also make me a strong proponent of reincarnation. They did teach me that pride goeth before a fall, but even with the threat of falling, I am proud of most of my personality traits, maybe not all the time, but enough to keep me sure of who I am, what I am here for, where I am going and how I will travel. I think my grandparents were also like this, as was my father. Not my mother though, sad to say.

The first man in both of the photos is my paternal grandfather, Carey. It is from him that I inherited my left-handedness. Is that even a word? No matter. He is the only other left-handed person from my past.

That connection gave me an interesting concept of my grandfather. Funny that I only remember what a pain in the ass he was …………… always. I remember my mother’s complete lack of patience with him, my grandmother’s lack of animation and personality (no room in the house for anyone else’s mental baggage with Grandpa around), and my father’s dedication and yet scarcely hidden dislike of his father.

He was a crotchety old goat when I met him. He wasn’t a healthy man and spent a lot of time at our home so that he could get medical care. My dad would pick him and Grandma up in Foosland and bring them to our home. We had a small 2 bedroom home, so I would move into my mom and dad’s room on a camp bed and they would sleep in my twin bed in my room shared with my sister.

There were always emergencies with Grandpa. He was diabetic and had insulin shots every day. He had to have certain foods and be kept away from others. He was definitely a know-it-all, a trait my father inherited (and sad, but true, so did I.)

There were lots of “discussions” when he was around. Most people would call them arguments. I remember, as a 4-year-old, I sensed an awful lot of anger in the exchanges. Anger was a frequent visitor in my family. Every relative I know has had anger issues. I’d like to understand where THAT gene is located.

Grandpa passed away when I was 8. My dad got a call from the hospital in our hometown, where Grandpa had been for at least a week. It was 2 a.m. The doctor or nurse or someone who phoned told Dad that he needed to come pick up his father. He was disruptive, argumentative, and obnoxious. They had enough. We all piled into the car and went to the hospital.

There was absolutely no way my mother was going to let him come back to our house. Instead, she told Dad to just take them back to Foosland. So we did.

I’m not sure why we all went along. My sister, Mom, of course, Grandma ……….. we all traveled 45 minutes north in the middle of the night to deliver Grandpa to a place where he could be as obnoxious as he wished.

He was obviously ill. Rather than leave my grandmother to cope alone, Dad stayed with them. I know it was June 8, 1960. Mom drove my sister and I back home. No way she would stay anywhere near him. He was cussing up a blue streak and Mom did not want “that kind of language” around her daughters.

He died that night and that began a 14-year saga of a seriously depressed grandmother living with us off and on – more on than off …………….. that’s another story.

But what did I inherit from him, besides being left-handed? His love of JUNK comes to mind. He spent several years running the local dump. In running it, he brought most of it back home and stuck it in his huge barn.

He was fascinated with growing vegetables. Their lives were hard in the 20s and 30s, with 5 small boys and hardly any work to be had. His mother had had it rough also, practically from the time he was born, as she was widowed young with two children to raise. Luckily, my great-grandfather was a farmer and he worked his own land. He grew tobacco, a crop with a good value. She had to figure out how to continue the farm on her own. I don’t think Grandpa ever forgot that early lesson,

They lived in southern Indiana and yet ended up in central Illinois. Dad said they lived in Spencer, Iowa for a time and in Troy, Illinois. This was years before my parents were married. At the age of 13, Dad moved to southern Indiana with his grandmother and she is the woman he called Mom. He called his mother by her first name until my mother told him it was disrespectful.

I’ve never figured out how they decided to send their 4th son to live with his grandmother, rather than one of the three older sons. They wouldn’t send “the baby” because he had suffered from polio and had a limp. But I cannot figure out why Arlon, Kenneth, or Sam didn’t go.

I am now the age at which my grandfather passed away. Funny how the years haven’t made me a sick, elderly person. Thank God. They haven’t made me a sad, depressed person like my grandmother after his death either. I dealt with the family curse of depression years ago. I’m sure I will experience it again …………….. seems to run in cycles. This is a horrid thought and I know – along with anger – everyone in my family deals with this in some form.

Inheritance. I inherited some positive and negative traits, but they are my family’s and I’m glad to have them. They didn’t show up in my DNA. Science can’t explain everything …………..