Nurture, Nature or Neurosis?

August 15, 2010

I read recently in In the Realm of Hungry Ghostsby Gabor Mate`, MD, that the “…emphasis on genetic causation in medical literature… is astonishing given the shaky logic on which supporting studies are based.” This struck a chord with me because I’m adopted, and have more in common with my adopted family than I care to admit while sober.

I love staying home on the couch watching cable rather than socializing, much like my dad. I share an angry, mean streak with my sister, though we both hide it with the pronouncement that “It’s for their own good.” And we all share a love for mashed potatoes. I’m pretty sure nurture had lots to do with all of these.

So, I had decided that my mind was made up, especially after listening to a speaker at CCARTA sum up that genes only give us a predisposition for illnesses and behaviors, that there has to be a trigger to bring the illness or behavior to life.

But God loves to keep me guessing.

And once I had made up my mind, my son began acting in strangely familiar ways.

He likes to keep his room dark. There are barely curtains on any windows in our home, and they are only closed when we need privacy, which, living on seven acres, is rarely. Except for my son’s room, which is a cave despite my best efforts to open curtains and windows each time he leaves the room. But, he only returns to close everything up again.

Then I remembered that when I met my husband, I thought he was a bear, as in he lived in a cave! His house was dark with heavy drapes closed throughout the house. Once we got married, well, he changed his ways. What married man worth his weight in gold doesn’t give up home decorating to the wife? Especially when his wife is convinced she is cold blooded and will die without sunlight to keep her blood flowing.

Wes has been raised by me, not overbearing me, just very persuasive and I-purchase-the-home-decor me. So how did this happen?

Then Wes came home this week complaining that his car stalled several times on the way home and was sitting in the middle of the driveway. He drives an older car, so we thought it was just old car problems. Bill went out to check on it  and returned to announce that Wes was out of gas.

De ja vue?

When Bill and I first got married we took my Chrysler to a nearby city. I mentioned he should probably stop to get gas, which he scoffed at and away we went. When we got close to our destination, the car kept stalling and finally died.

Bill spent several minutes cursing my piece of junk car, called our friend who showed up to help, help put gas in the car.

It has to be genetic!

I’m so confused. Just when I think I have it all figured out, I don’t. There is one thing though that I am sure of, I have a type of neurosis from trying to get a grip on this whole debate. I hope someone does a study soon of the neurosis created in mothers trying to outnurture dad’s genes in their sons.

This week I will avoid my neurosis by not worrying about whether things are nurture or nature, but instead worrying about whether there is gas in my son’s car and sunlight in his room.