My long departed family members are spinning in their graves. I have contributed poorly to my family heritage. And it has become evident to all that my bloodline and my genes are not up to the task. On our family tree, I now am nothing but a small vine. I am a DNA wimp! And I blame the blond.
How could a Scandinavian bloodline so decimate a long and illustrious Texas heritage? At family gatherings my children and grandchildren stick out like sore thumbs. Of all the nieces and nephews and grand nieces and nephews, you can pick out mine even if you are a total stranger. I blame the blond.
Within two years of the birth of my son and daughter I started to endure little quips from my brothers like "Did the Swede go back home about nine months before those two were born?" I just had to take it. I had passed on no traits. The children looked nothing like me what so ever. I blame the blond.
But she wasn't satisfied. No, not by a long shot. It wasn't enough to have her children look like miniature clones of her. No, her Viking bloodline demanded that the link continue. There is no fighting it. Every time a new grandchild is born a piece of Texas dies. I blame the blond.
We received a portrait of my son's two girls this morning. I looked at the picture for a long time. Finally I turned to the Swede and said "Well I hope you're happy, all five of them look just like you!" And with her accented English she replies "Ya, der is a gawd."
I blame the blond.
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