Rattling Around

Rattling around in my head today is an article from Scientific American about this gene, called CHRM2, whose various expressions appear to be correlated with depression, unruly childhood behavior, high intelligence and alcoholism.

Wha-a-at? Yes. Fascinating.

The theory goes that when this gene is confronted with unstable, uninvolved, volatile parenting... well... it is more likely to result in alcoholism or aggression in teenagers. And when this gene is confronted with engaged, positive, nurturing and involved parenting... it results in wildly successful and intelligent citizens.

It is truly being called the orkidebarn or maskrosbarn theory (Swedish for... orchid child or dandelion child). Dandelion children are the resilient children... they can, and usually do, thrive in any kind of environment. But the orchid children - they are delicate. They have the capacity for incredible beauty, for outshining others - but they also have the capacity to wilt beyond repair without tender, careful care. They're not to be stepped on. Mistakes weigh on them.

I suspect we'll learn more and more and more in my lifetime about various genes, and the effect nurture has on them in each person, depending on the variance in the gene we happen to be housing. But isn't it fascinating!?

(More here.)

Rebel, Rebel.

I was not much of a rebel when living under my parents roof. There are many reasons for this, but foremost would be my ESFJ personality type and parents who were not interested in being my friend. Their rules were scarce, but firm, and my mother tells me now that, yes, I rejected her in favor of other adult role models during the teenage time, and it wasn't very fun for her, but hey, look how it turned out! She and I have an element of great friendship in our relationship now, and everybody's happy forever the end.

You know what I mean.

Anyway... there were not a lot of exterior things to be frightened of in my house. The things that were full of fear seemed reasonable: gun safety was a big one, driving in the snow with great caution was another. Slamming doors and hanging up phones: strictly verboten. But we swam without waiting a half hour after eating, we ate in the living room, brushed our hair in the kitchen, said "sucks" if something did, and tried to rely upon reason and debate to settle things.

However. One of the funniest exceptions: tanning salons. There was an element of, "If you get skin cancer and you've been to tanning bed, EVER, then hey, you asked for it. No sympathy here." Tanning salons were DEFINITELY verboten. They were alternately gross, damaging, declasse, expensive, wasteful, for spoiled brats, etc. Sometimes conflicting reasons, but always the same outcome: no, no, no.

So it was with great rebellion in my heart, feeling like I did when I smoked my first cigarette, that I went to tanning salon for the first time last week. The guy was out of Central Casting; exactly the kind of early-40s guy who runs a tanning salon. I said, "Um, hi. I've never tanned before, I don't know exactly how it works."

He gave the pricing rundown, the timing rundown, the hours of the place, and added, deadpan and totally casually, "We use Gemini bulbs. Prob'ly the best bulbs in the business," before assigning me a booth.

It was a strange experience; I felt like someone was going to yell at me, "HEY! You can't go tanning! What are you doing!? You're grounded!" (Even though I was never once grounded in my life, save a single evening at age 8 which was clearly my brother's fault.)

So the next time you see me, you can tell me how the tan looks. And this is a limited time thing, I promise Mom and Dad, in prep for a one-day event. I swear.

Side Note: Happy Birthday Mom!! Many happy wishes and lots of love to you today and everyday.