Nature Vs. Nurture By: Jenny

I firmly believe it is my calling in life to try to perfect the art of shenanigans that my ancestors started. Generations of deception flow through my veins. I am dedicated to carrying on the traditions of trickery of those who came before me---for my posterity’s sake.

When James (now 16 years old) was younger, my husband, Jason, and I were out running errands. We realized that we would be getting home about 10 minutes after the bus dropped him off. We decided to call him on the phone to make sure he would be ok and to reassure him that we would be home soon. That is truly what my intentions were as I dialed the phone, but years of ingrained training kicked in.

James picked up the phone, and said in his sweet 2nd grade little boy voice, “Hello?” Trying to disguise my voice, I growled into the phone, “Is my goat on your roof?” There was a pause. “Ummm, uh….no,” James voice sounded hesitant. I rumbled into the phone, “I’ve lost my goat! I think it’s on your roof!” Another pause, James irresolute answer came slowly, “Ummmm….I don’t think so.” I sounded irritated as I said, “Can you at least go and check?” There was a moment of silence. “O.K. I’ll be back.” I heard some shuffling, and then his tentative voice, “There’s nothing on our roof.” I growled, “I thought for sure it was on your roof!” Gruffly I said, “Goodbye!”


As we drove into the driveway, I giggled the entire time, thinking about how to stretch out this prank. My husband, my comrade in parenting, was one step ahead of me. James was sitting on the couch watching T.V. and Jason asked, “James! What is a goat doing on our roof??!!”

What happened next is one of the proudest moments in my life. James turned and looked at me, realizing what had just happened and he said very calmly, “Mom. You. Are. Pathetic.”

What he didn’t understand is that this desire, this need, to ‘prank’ is beyond my control. It is the age-old debate of Nature VS Nurture. Years and years of predecessors in my family have cursed me with this: pretending wet dog food is fudge, bowls of water above the door, telling my sister that she was adopted (with my dad’s help of course! Or else it would have never been believable!), green food coloring in the milk, countless phone calls to Santa Clause, having a clown walk into my 8th graders school for his birthday, slowly shoving the tire pressure gauge up my nose (or so it appears), telling my kids that Aunt Sarah used to be Uncle Sarah, food coloring in chicken noodle soup (we were eating brains for dinner) and many other things that aren’t appropriate to share publicly. I blame all of this on my ancestors.

Other families pass down a propensity for courage, faith or skills that are actually useful. My family passes down whoopee cushions.

My family is chaotic, messy, outspoken, passionate, and flawed. We laugh until we snort, we cry on each other’s shoulders, and we share recipes. Think what you may, but I love my family and for all that they stand for: Joy. Oh, and goats.