I often ponder what of me my offspring will remember from their childhood. It seems to me I spend many days lecturing and retraining as I attempt to disciple my babies. I am most certain this is not all in my head. I do, after all, have 6 little followers, which is what, after all, a disciple is. I am training them to be what I myself pursue.
I have been dabbling in familiarizing myself with the basics of epigenetics. Wikipedia’s definition states in part that it is the study of heritable changes in gene expression or cellular phenotype caused by mechanisms other than changes in the underlying DNA sequence. The gist is that our environment and our choices can influence our genetic code- and that of our offspring. In studies done with rats some mothers are overachieving types. They lick their little rat babies past the point of cleanliness. The regular ol’ once over type mamas are just in it to get the job done. Turns out the overachievers produce overachievers. All that licking kicks on their hippocampus and begins a cascade of events, each triggering the next until those little rat babies can say with Fezzik,
“It’s not my fault being the biggest and the strongest. I don’t even exercise.”
I’m not sure it has much to do with my personal epigenetics, but as I ponder my kids future thoughts of their history and why it was written as it was I can’t help but think about my own. Why do I do what I do?
Last night my kids were discussing the ownership of the individual flashlights they each received from their paternal grandparents for Christmas. They were given with stickers of each child’s name clearly in view. Said stickers have a way of either falling away or being forcibly removed. To end all idle chattering I reached to the shelf beneath my cookbooks. Residing there in its own protective carrying case is the electric engraving tool my dad gave me upon my marriage. It is the sort where the metal tip vibrates back and forth while making a deafening sound. I quickly named all the flashlights to the glee of the corresponding children.
Today I engraved the size on my metal bias strip maker with the same tool. Every time I use that handy bias strip maker I have to remeasure what size it fits. Why didn’t I think of the engraver before now?
I fondly recall from my history that my dad engraved TN on every tool he owned. When he gave me a pocketknife it was named “Megan”. My harmonica was named the same. Incidently, the “a” looked just like that. Dad’s lower case “a’s” were always formed like they were typewritten with the extra curl at the top. At the time he gave me the engraver I found it odd. He just gave it to me, no explanation, no gift wrap, like I would know what to do with it.
I proceeded to engrave my new name all over my new “tools”. I had bread pans, 9x13 pans, bowls, and spatulas marked with my new moniker. I was quickly hooked and am ever-thankful I don’t have to go through life wondering to whom the jellyroll pan in the cupboard belongs. I’m pretty sure this is not an example of how my dad impressed upon my epigenetics, but I am pondering many other aspects as I watch my own children.
If you are the least curious as to how your current choices are effecting your progeny John Cloud’s article in Time magazine from January 6, 2010, called Why Your DNA Isn’t Your Destiny, was a thought provoking read. I will think none-the-less of you if you aren’t interested. It seems I can easily explain my interest. You see, Breadwinner and I met in genetics class. I set myself apart from the others of my gender, in his eyes, by my daily quest to encourage the professor to check the overhead screen for focus prior to beginning the lecture. We have been in continuous experimentation using genetics for 12 years.
But, I am sure it can all be explained easily enough using epigenetics. My dad’s degree was in chemistry and my mom was involved heavily in genetic lab work herself...
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