Is This You? Who We Become

If you don’t think kids remember things they learn in school, think back to when Darwinism was a big thingy. This past week, as I was out barefoot watering, a deep thought of long, long ago came to mind. 

It must have been in maybe the 4th grade when Darwinism was thrust upon little ears. I do not believe, not anymore, that you and I, and all things crawled up out of the premortal sludge of the earth. But! Yes, a fantasy-inspired “but.” There are things that were taught that have always been in my head. Here’s one.

I remember being taught that all living things, over who knows how many millions of years, started off and were some sort of wiggling squishy thing. Soon, for whatever reason, every wiggly slimy thing crawled onto dry land and evolved. In that evolution process, I was taught the process was still ongoing. Moreover, sooner or later, all humans would have no need for their little toes. Yes, bit by bit, our non-essential little bitty piggies would no longer be part of life. I’m here to tell you that for years, yes years, I watched to see if my littlest piggy would go “Wee, Wee, Wee,” all the way into oblivion. Just fall off? Oh, my stars. 

It didn’t stop there. No, it was discussed that we use our little toes for balance, and when they finally disappeared from our feet, we would still be able to walk, but it would take a million or so years for us to be able to walk correctly. Shame on those who were in charge of teaching little children all that poop. I now laugh at the fact that even though Darwinism was thrust at us, the biggest question was never answered. The question? I remember asking, “Okay, even if we did come from the ooze, where did the first slimy little things come from? God?” HAHA. No wonder I got “talks too much” on every report card I ever got.

As I was out watering, though, I got to thinking about how we all get to where we are. What amazing traits we all bring forward from our family of ancestors, the ones we know and the ones we have no idea about. Even if you are into genealogy, you can only go back so far. Then yours, mine, his and her families, and all that they were, are lost, except for things that we do that have come forward through our lineage. 

Like sneezing. Out in the yard, a breeze was blowing sweet summer through the trees. Along with pollen and dust. So, I sneezed. It hit me, like the memory of losing my piggy toes, that the sneeze I just let go sounded like my dad’s sneeze. I’m here to tell you he could sneeze and bring the house down. Now, not only do I occasionally get a glimpse of my mother as I walk past a mirror, but I now let go of a honk through my nose, like the king of sneeze, my dad. 

Of course, then, because I am me, I took a quick inventory of a few other family-inspired traits. Do we all have a basket full of things we do because our relatives did them somewhere along our line? I would bet yes.

I had a cousin, might have been an uncle, my family was not all that close. I remember bits and pieces of family as I grew up with all ten of my toes. Chuck was his name, and he was a hoot. Drank a bit, but always martinis, and when he talked, it was usually a little slurred. But when he sat on the couch, he had this habit of putting his arms, with hands clasped, on top of his head. I do that. I don’t know why, but it’s comfortable. I might rethink posture. Recently, I learned that that stance is considered a “surrender” stance. Maybe ole cousin Chuck had more incidents in regard to his martinis than I remember as a child. Still love him today.

I have seen very few old photos of my family. There are some, though, that long-lost relatives have written names and dates on. I noticed, last time I had some photos in my hands that I make my capital “Ms” like relatives that I never knew. Nearly each time I write a check and I sign my name, I give a quick thought to how far back that delightful “M” design goes. 

We’re products of things and people from the beginning of time. I do not, however, believe that any number of years ago, people had different sized little toes than I do today.

Trina lives in Diamond Valley, north of Eureka, Nevada. She loves to hear from readers. Email her at [email protected]

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