Your DNA will never forget, even after your gone

I am a product of my experiences. So are you.

Life has an ability to rip open our souls to teach us a lesson. When we don’t listen, the cut goes deeper and takes longer to heal.

Souls aren't worth one lifetime. They are the result of many lifetimes.  

Our DNA never forgets. It trains us like a herd of Pavlov dog’s to act predictably.

It is not only my experiences that dictates my actions and beliefs, it is also those of my parents, grandparents and great, great grandparents.

Their most important experiences created beliefs and thus their parenting styles. These styles are carried through generations and get fused into our DNA.

The lesser beliefs get lost. The unburdened get tossed. The strong ones gets carried to the next generation.

I don't think I'm like my dad, there's a cheapness about me that is easily recognizable in in my dad. I thought it ended there. My grandparents weren't cheap. They were poor. There's a difference between inability to pay and unwillingness to pay.

My friend David told me a story about a Scottish stereotype that they were cheap. 

Frugality is a trait found in Scottish families.  They aren’t lavish, show-offs. They keep their wallets close and save for the rainy day.  Nicholson is a Scottish clan.  So maybe, I come from a family that has been conditioned for centuries to be cheap. 

But what about my inability to accept authority?

Myers Briggs categorizes me an INFP: "Moderator". A moderator hates authority, needs to be included in decisions, does not like to be told what to do.

It is possible my INFP personality is something I learned and have been conditioned for.

I don't know where my hatred of authority comes from. My family wasn’t controlling.

In childhood, I wasn't overly controlled, except for two memorable times in school. There was the Jacket Judge of 1990 and the Detention Obstention of 1989

I was an A student, so the school rules seemed slacker for me. I would stand to defy the teacher, like a politician debating a writ into law. 

This story is about the Detention Obsention. The class was out of control. Jamie P was throwing erasers at Tommy B. Jason T was farting and making David H laugh uncontrollably. Even the girls were losing their minds with constant laughter and chitter chatter. In the midst of anarchy and full moons, literally, Ms Bourque lost her mind and put the entire class into detention at lunch time. 

I was laughing but not one of the antagonists. 
I thought the punishment wasn't appropriate for me. 
So I chose to boycott her detention. 

I went to the public library instead. The library was directly across the street from school and I had a general permission slip from my mom to leave school grounds at lunch time. I didn't need the books. I was hiding and silently objecting to Ms. Bourque's rule. After picking out two books, I made sure to catch the last moments of jail time. 

Ms. Bourque looked at me with the same disappointment my grandmother looked at me when I tormented my younger sister to tears. 
I argued the punishment didn’t fit the crime. 
I explained my plans trumped hers. 
And she didn’t have authority over my plans. 

But that day, I saw Ms Bourque’s face, under her mask of blush turn fire engine red. Her little orange-haired head bobbed back and forth like it was about to boil over the top. Her tongue was wrapped around her molars so tight that she barely squeezed out six words, “The rest of you can go”. 

I sat there for seconds, but it felt like an hour. Not a word was spoken until the bell blasted through the silence, signalling the end of lunch. She murmured while glaring into my soul with, “We have another date tomorrow”.  In which I quipped, “Not if I have something better planned”.  The next day, I decided it was in my best interest to spend time with Ms Bourque, so I did it.  

I lost her respect that day. Our relationship never healed. I wasn't a bad kid. I was a good student. 

I wasn’t a punk rebel. 
I didn’t like heavy metal or the t-shirts the rebels liked to wear. 

I didn’t smoke, drink or do drugs. 

Ms Bourque has reappeared in my life many times, in different forms. Punishment does not work on me. It makes me bitter, angry, vindictive and vengeful. Anyone who tries to tell me what to do loses me. I won’t contribute. I rebel, sabotage and defy...usually in silence.

I hate myself when I’m like that. It doesn’t solve anything.

But it is who I am. And I accept it.

Maybe that’s how the Scots felt under English rule.

It's impossible to know what your DNA holds, but it isn't so hard to know your MBTI personality profile. It has taught me a lot about who I am as a parent, worker, friend, spouse and child.

What is your MBTI? You can find out for free at 16personalities.com.