Regional
(2009-04-13)
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GREELEY, CO
(KUNC) -
Just in time for spring cleaning, KUNC Commentator Laura Bridgwater hopes that a twist on genetic testing will help her deal with a particular family member who thinks her shoes, coats, backpacks, and toys all belong in the middle of the floor.
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Like Gregor Mendel, the father of genetics who studied the inheritance of certain traits in pea plants, I, too, can use this common dinner vegetable to illustrate a certain difference between my two daughters.
As the mother of Kitchen-etics, when I defrost and serve a side of peas, our daughter Elizabeth lines her peas up in a row on her plate. She's our little Pea Whisperer.
Our other daughter, Katherine, bounces her peas off the table, then squashes them, proving that the cleaning gene has skipped a generation. She's our little Missing Link.
I would blame her father for the Missing Link's inability to see dirt, but he scrubs such a mean kitchen floor that we call him Cinderfellow.
When it comes to her bedroom, what the Missing Link thinks is lived in, we think is ransacked. Her room perpetually looks as if Homeland Security searched it for Osama Bin Laden. The dresser drawers hang open and the carpet is littered with books, CDs, and piles of clothes dating back to pre-Thanksgiving.
Lately, I've been considering taking a hotel management approach to the Missing Link's bedroom. We'll nail down her possessions so she can't make a mess. She can have a bible in one drawer and keep her laundry in a suitcase. We'd designate her unit a No Smoking room and put a number on the door.
The problem is she's stayed in enough hotels to know to ask for cable TV and room service. I'd end up being the maid.
So I got excited when I read recently about a new consumer service in Boulder called Atlas Sports Genetics, where you can swab the inside of your child's cheek for a few cells and tell if they are genetically predisposed for speed and endurance.
From an athletic standpoint, we have no need for this test in our household. Our idea of an organized sport is to kick the soccer ball around in the backyard until someone makes up a rule that no one else likes. The ball then gets left outside and the squirrels shred it.
What I want is a genetic test, not for the fast twitch muscle, but for the cleaning gene, then I'd know whether or not to keep nagging the Missing Link to make her bed.
I don't know why scientists haven't discovered this gene yet. Not everyone plays sports, but everyone needs to learn to pick up after themselves.
I understand the allure of athletic testing in our sports-crazy culture, but I want tests that identify traits with a more universal appeal.
I might get my wish, too.
As the cost of genetic testing plunges, start-up companies are offering personal genome services. One such company, 23andMe, was named TIME magazine's 2008 Invention of the Year.
For $399 and a sample of spit, this web-based service will analyze my DNA and tell me how I fair on a growing list of over 90 diseases, traits, and conditions, from Alcohol Flush Reaction to Ear Wax Type to Venous Thromboembolism.
I don't know how useful I would find this genetic information. I know what happens when I drink alcohol, I don't care about my ear wax type, and I don't want to know if I have a greater chance of dying from some terrible disease. For now, I think my spit would be put to better use to shine the mirror.
But I do want a test for the cleaning gene. That could improve my life today.
If the Missing Link were to test negative for the cleaning gene, then I'd take a nurture over nature path. Like spring training in baseball, I'd start a spring cleaning camp.
If, however, she were to test positive for the cleaning gene, then I'd ignore her complaints of scrubber's elbow. I'd encourage her to help us finish the weekend chores with speed and endurance.
Then Cinderfellow and I could sit on the deck, split a microbrew, and watch the kids kick around what's left of the soccer ball. © Copyright 2012, KUNC
