So, today, I gained further evidence that Quinn is definitely MY child. He is the second of my three boys to manifest this particular genetic trait. It is a trait that is not apparently noticeable. In fact, just looking at the boys you would not be able to see it. Only under the right conditions is it visible.
Today, I was sitting at home with Quinn and Shandeigh (who is at home, sick). We had just had lunch and the kids were off watching a movie while I was cleaning up. The movie was The Magic Dog, or some other similar, unfamiliar title. I heard the voice of the father on the movie and I thought I recognized it, so I went in the front room to check my suspicions. It was unusually bright in the room casting a huge glare from the window. So it was hard for me to see the TV unless I bent over to reduce the glare from the window. As I did, my head (and ear) came close to Quinn. And that's when I heard it!
With Jonathan, it has happened a number of times. The most recent, that I recall, happened a few months ago. We had sat down as a family to watch a movie. This one had a more notable title, Where the Red Fern Grows. A very special movie (and book, if you've read it) that has a very touching story to it. So with Jonathan, it happened (this time) close to the end of the movie. As I mentioned, this had happened to Jonathan before, and he gets a little embarrassed about it, so had I not looked at him, I wouldn't have really noticed. But I saw him and I could tell, he was definitely his father's son!
My earliest manifestation of this trait happened when I was a small boy. Around the same age as Quinn is now. I remember the day vividly. We had gone to town that day, which was a big deal because we usually only went once every two weeks. That particular day was snowy, and I think it was towards the beginning of the winter because that day I got a new pair of snow boots. They were so cool!! MOONBOOTS! I was so excited. I had to have been because I couldn't wait to show them to my best friend, Ruby. Ruby was my dog. Okay, maybe she was my parents' dog, but for all intents and purposes, she was mine!
So, I got home and I ran to the back yard to meet my friend. It was late when we got home, so she didn't come running out to meet me, probably because she was sleeping. So, I ran to her dog house, where I knew she would be sleeping. And that's where I found her and, yes, she was sleeping. I tried to wake her up, excited to show her my boots. She wouldn't wake, so I went in to tell dad so he could help me wake her up. He went out, but made me stay in while he went. He was gone for quite a while. When he came back, we had a talk. This was my first experience with death. And from that day, my moonboots didn't seem so cool.
My children had a dog once, too. It was a small hairy thing that my wife thought she could handle. She is not a dog lover, much to the dismay of me and the kids. The kids named the dog Ruby. (Funny how history repeats itself.) This dog lasted a month in our house before my wife got so sick and tired of it, that she took it to the parking lot at Wal-mart and sold it. And the kids won't let her forget it either!
So, is being a dog-lover genetic? I always thought it to be a learned trait, but it seems my kids, most especially Quinn (who has never lived with a dog), are proof that it could be genetic.