Genetics
-by Hannah Rachel Abraham
“Aaaaaahh,” I groaned as I eased myself onto my hammock for a well-deserved siesta. Being a genetic engineer was hard work, especially if you became one by bribing, not by merit. I was almost in dream world when I saw my son inching towards me with a sheepish, guilty look on his face. I groaned-again. It seemed impossible to think that creatures like this, however beloved, still existed. At 17, my son was one of those overachievers who are becoming increasingly rare among teenagers nowadays. If ever his grade would drop below an A+, he would come to me with that look on his face, apologize profusely for being such a disappointment to me, and shuffle away with promises of a better performance the next time- a broken man. I didn’t remember much of what I learnt about genetics in college, but I did know that when a child is born, he inherits genes from both his parents, which will be displayed in many ways. It was ironic, I thought bitterly, that a son of a genetics professor should be so manifestly like one parent and not the other. Anyone could say at a glance that he was his mother’s son, as they were alike not only in their personalities, but also their looks and levels of genius. There was no external feature in my son whatsoever that could identify him as mine. Life was SO unfair.
But I HAD worn that same guilty look on my face when I was his age, but for entirely different reasons.
I was rather a rascal of a teen when I was 17. Along with my best friend Eustace, we were the bne of our teachers’, the apple of our classmates’ eye, and the cross our parents had to bear here on Earth. My poor father had had to come to school twice to explain away my wrong doings to the Principal and keep me from being suspended. Still, Eustace and I breezed along through life, grabbing it with all the gusto we had.
One day, we were taking lemonade to the teachers on their second floor staff room, when we saw the opportunity of a lifetime. The Junior Dean was standing right below us on the balcony below! I looked at Eustace. Eustace looked at me. We moved as one to the edge of the wall. To tip the lemonade down his neck was the work of an instant. His reaction – rather like a cat on hot coals – was epic.
But of course, we got caught, and were awarded a two-day suspension for our efforts. My heart sank when I thought of how to explain this to Dad. As I approached the heavy oak door of his study to knock on it, a booming voice commanded ‘Enter!’, making me stop in my tracks. Mustering up all the courage I had, I opened the door and went in. Dad looked at me. “I saw you through the window. What is it now?” he asked wearily. I felt sorry for him. I shuffled my feet, and shifted my weight on one leg. “Swedish excercises?”, inquired my father sarcastically. I decided that that foot was probably not my best, and shifted my weight to the other foot. “Um, Dad, I, um - ”
“Dad? DAD!!” the sound of my son hollering jolted me back to the present. I glared at him. “WHAT?” I asked a little waspishly, for he had made me bite my tongue. “I um, got suspended today”, he managed. I stared at him, dumbstruck, with all the waspishness melting away like ice in the infernal weather we were having just then. “Yeah, I did,” he said.
“For-” “Pouring lemonade on the Junior Dean?” I said half- heartedly. His eyes widened. “H-how did you know?” he stammered. My heart gushing with happiness, I gathered my bewildered son in a bear hug and almost choked the life out of him. “Because you’re my son too”.

END