Genetics

“You’re just like your father.” My wife tells me this quite often. Sometimes it's a statement, more often an accusation. Those used to be fightin’ words. Even the suggestion of such a possibility was vehemently denied. We tend to use this phrase to describe people. Sometimes it's in a positive way, but more often than not it isn't. As I have matured and undoubtedly become more like my father, I no longer feel the sting, the barb in those words like I used to. My father and I still do not see eye to eye on many things, but our relationship is good. Over the years we have argued heatedly, gone without speaking for two years (my choice) and have eventually agreed to disagree.  Through it all we have always loved each other and as the years have passed each of us has mellowed, fortunately.

In 1939 Winston Churchill said, “I cannot forecast to you the actions of Russia. It is a riddle, inside a mystery, wrapped in an enigma…” For years these words have described perfectly the way I have viewed my father and many of the choices he has made.  However, over the past several years I have gained a new appreciation for many of my father’s character traits. In some of these I have gone so far as to desire to emulate them in my own life. For example; my father has never been materialistic. As with all of life there is the positive and the negative, the pros and cons to everything. Where I am in life now, to be willing and able to easily let go of the things I surround myself with, would be a positive trait. Oddly, I am finding that more often than not, my treasure becomes my master…the thing that traps me rather than sets me free. My father has never struggled with holding any possession too tightly. Positive? I think so.

My father has never allowed other’s opinions or perceptions of him or his choices to influence the choices he has made. He has lived life on his own terms.  Positive? Yes and no, but on a purely intellectual level…positive. Dad has certainly not lead a "normal" life. The career, the two story house, two car garage thing bores him to death. Worrying about retirement or the future...never. Life with my father has always been an adventure. I have never seen him show fear, which on the negative side has lead us into some rather stressful situations. On the positive side, as my globe trotting friend Bob Beckett would say, "When the pain of the event is over, it's all about the stories." And do we have stories.

My father has always been an adventurer and a traveler. At the age of 15 he ran away from home and joined the Army, insisting that he was 18. Despite the fact that clearly he was not, the Army accepted him. After all they had a war to fight and men were men even if they were only boys. Jump school, paratrooper, Korea, wounded in action, marriage, the GI bill, Professor of Physics, children, much moving and traveling, more children, Pastor, entrepreneur, all are words that describe my father’s life.  Even when we did live in one spot, we were always on the move. Dad, at the age of 81, recently returned from a 2 week stay in Kenya. His third in the past several years. 500 miles from nowhere, living in a grass hut with his friend Rabson, his family and several of the orphans my father helps support, eating the same bland food they eat, sleeping on the same dirt floor they sleep on, crapping in the same hole they…well you get the picture. Yes, in so many ways, being “just like my father” is not such a bad thing.

My mother and father, Aug. 1952

And what of my mother? Born in a log cabin in the hills of Kentucky, a coal miner’s daughter, she was raised with a strong work ethic. Life was hard in Kentucky. Her grandmother slept with a .45 pistol under her pillow and “wasn’t a'feered of man nor beast”.  Her mother told stories of her own uncles, moonshiners and hunters, tough, hard men who often lived outside the law. Despite this same heritage, my grandfather, although far from perfect was good to his children. My mother still misses him.

When it came to travel, I never remember my mother ever complaining. She could get all six of us children packed and ready for a trip, which was often a spur of the moment event, faster than anyone I have ever known. And somehow, miraculously, there would always be fried egg sandwiches in the cooler when it was time for breakfast. (For some strange reason our trips always seemed to start at 1 in the morning.)  Mom was exceptional at making a home wherever we were. For her, home was where her husband and children where. Tonight, as we talked about our plans to move to Honduras, I saw the gleam of adventure in her eyes, heard her hinting that perhaps she would come with us. So am I also like my mother? Yes, in many ways and this too is not a bad thing.

My maternal grandparents, circa 1938

Genetics…say what you want. As far as I’m concerned, at least in some measure, we are part of all those who have gone before us. It is said, "It's all in the genes." Okay, maybe not all, but...   

If you believe, as I do, that God made each of us unique, each provided in a special way with God-ordained talents, personalities and yes, even genetics, for specific work in His kingdom…then should I really wonder why it is I long to go to faraway places? When I choose to live life different, should it come as a surprise when people find me...different? Should I care? My father wouldn't.  

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