Moles and Crooked Fingers

It’s interesting—even weird—the things we inherit, or somehow “pick up” from our parents. It could be physical features, personality traits, ways of speaking, habits, etc. These things serve to connect us in an  undeniably profound way to our moms and dads. For those of you who were adopted or raised by someone other than biological parents, I believe you picked up defining things too—and those pearls, if you will, became treasured parts of who you are today.

Some of the things I inherited from my father physically are the shape of my nose, my high forehead, a broad and flattish backside—and some uniquely similar “markings.” I remember early in life my mom pointing out that my dad and I each had two diagonally placed moles (one of Dad’s may have been a large freckle, but who’s stipulating?) on our right arms, the second one meeting up with the anterior part of our elbows. My dad always took great delight in comparing our “moles.” He was pleased that we shared such an unusual point of commonality.

Dad was also pleased that I picked up his writing ability, including the love of the rhyme. I inherited his wordplay wit, including his penchant for puns. Admittedly, I have also followed his pattern of being slow to anger but frighteningly intense once angry. Dad was a good oral reader—so am I; in fact, I loved reading aloud in school.

Both my parents were actually writers, but my dad and I ended up more similar in style. My love of singing (and ability to carry a tune, I might add) also came from both of them—I have fond memories of song bursts in the truck on the way to cut alder poles in the Siuslaw National Forest and of my parents—or my mom and I—doing special music for church services at times. I come by big feet naturally, as both had what my dad liked to call “a good understanding.” My faith in God and belief in the importance of prayer were also emulated to me by my mother and father alike.

My mother’s DNA graced me with large, expressive eyes, brown hair, and a tiny bit of curl in my hair (not sure why I didn’t get more—she had plenty to spare). The feature most talked about though was one that ran in my mom’s family through her mother—the middle and pointer fingers on both hands curve outward, the middle finger appearing especially crooked. My mom’s were even more crooked than mine and her mother’s than hers. If there was ever any question as to our being related, we’d just show people our fingers—observable amazement and awed comments often followed.

My mom liked to bowl…and was terrible at it—I’d have to say I followed in her footsteps on both counts. My mother was tirelessly compassionate, and I’m happy to say I tend to always err on the side of compassion as well. Mom was a good but not “fancy” cook—she knew how to make a handful of dishes extremely well—and it didn’t matter that they were repeated in cycles because they were so good. I too have a small repertoire of favorites and inherited a little of my mom’s home-cooking sense. My laugh, in its full-fledged form, has also been compared to my mother’s exuberant “cackle.” Mom enjoyed whimsical knick-knacks—and I collect the same sorts of delightful trinkets. She appreciated the beauty of nature and would often comment on the majesty of God’s creation, which caused me to develop the same awareness and appreciation.

My parents’ love of the beach—particularly the “treasures” one could find there—was passed on to me as well. To this day, I love scanning the shore for unusual or pretty rocks and shells. I acquired some habits and practices from them which bind me to them even now, though they are both in Heaven: mixing Campbell’s split pea and tomato soups together; pushing down on the pancakes with the spatula as I’m cooking them; talking to myself; snoring; composing song parodies on the fly; letting dirty dishes pile up in the sink; loving the smell of Pine Sol; commenting on the ironies of life and finding humor in unlikely places.

Whether it’s a matching birthmark, the way you look over the top of your glasses the way your dad did, the way you pronounce certain words or favor common phrases and terminology—whatever you may be heir to by either genetics or environment via your parental influences, don’t take for granted the connective power of these actualities. They adorn you, explain you, define you. May you find meaning in the familial idiosyncrasies that root you to a common history with those you love.

“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.” – Psalm 139:13