It is not an easy thing, getting genetic testing done on your DNA. For one thing it is very expensive, and insurance companies don’t always like to pay for it. And by “very expensive” I mean “more than I have made in the past decade.” So you don’t want to just have it done without first confirming with your insurance company, in writing, that they would be delighted to pay for it. And even when you get the approval finally, you learn that there is a line. A very long line. It is like the women’s room line at the intermission of an event that features both Ryan Gosling and Chris Hemsworth. In fact, it took us over two months to get my son’s results back. But we got them! Finally!
It turns out that he is a mutant. When he reaches puberty he will most certainly acquire superhuman powers and go off to study at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. At least this is what I am hoping for. I could be misreading the file. It definitely says that he tested positive for some sort of mutation, but all this meant to the doctors is that they needed to do more tests to see if it actually meant anything at all.
So now I am looking at my son’s DNA, and I am thinking that this is my fault. Half of that DNA in there is mine, and my wife is not the sort to leave her DNA lying about where it can get broken or mangled, so I’m sure her DNA is fine. No, this is my crummy DNA that I left out overnight one too many times in college and now it has gone bad and screwed up my child. I know this to be true. It is a fact. I have ruined lives with my bad genes.
Although you know, this isn’t really my fault after all. My parents gave me this DNA. This is their fault. I’m not sure which one of them did it, but they gave me some messed up DNA. It was probably both of them. You can’t trust parents. They are always giving out bad DNA to people. And yet, they got all of their DNA from my grandparents. Good gravy, we could go back like this forever! Whose fault is this?! Where did the bad DNA come from?!
Somewhere, way back when, somebody got with somebody else and messed up the gene pool. I’m not sure who it was, but I’m sure that sex was involved somehow. Stupid relatives. Why did they give us the epilepsy mutation?! Why not the accelerated healing factor, or the mind control? Wait, scratch that. I do not want my children having mind control powers. Maybe some mild flight? Either way, I feel like we got the raw end of the mutant lottery here.
Boy, it sure would be nice to blame someone. Blaming someone feels good, doesn’t it? What can you do when there is no one to pin it on? Where do you point the finger? At God? God didn’t make my ancestors get freaky and start having mutant babies. From what I hear in some circles, God doesn’t like sex much at all! Although the people who think that clearly missed a whole book of the Bible, if you know what I’m sayin’. Wink wink, nudge nudge. No, this is not God’s fault. This is not anybody’s fault. This is just life.
And then the tests came back yesterday and my son doesn’t have that thing after all. So we are not going to switch around his plan to the thing we were going to do. We are going to switch back to that other thing we were previously going to do. You know. Plans. And now that we know that his problems are not caused by weird DNA, we can go forward with that knowledge, and we can continue to have no one to blame. Which I suppose is fine. But if he starts shooting lasers out of his eyes in ten years, I’m blaming my mother.
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