Nature vs. Nurture

My genes have completely doomed my future career as a physician. From now on, I will take all my under-achievements and blame them firmly on my genealogy (more specifically, I blame YOU, Mom and Dad). My fundamental problem is twofold: A, I am a night owl (Dad), and B, I need a minimum of nine hours a night of sleep each night to be even semi-functionable (Both). As a Swendiman I know that there is never a Reason C (Dad). These character flaws preclude me from ever waking up for an eight o'clock class, and render my life-efforts completely impotent after slumbering less than 7.5 hours (or more precisely, 5 REM-sleep cycles). I say I'm doomed as a future medical specialist because apparently both of these character flaws are particularly frowned upon in residency. Long hours and early rounds are daily in most specialties, and so I either need to find my way in Dermatology, or back to Starbucks where I was immensely successful in selling off-season-blowout-sale paraphernalia. That or I need to kick this sleep habit. Oddly I seem to pick activities that make early-risers flat out giddy (swimming? how on earth did I wake up at 5:07 am all those years? and 4:12 am in high school?). Pondering these peculiarities made me reflect on what other characteristics I inherited from my parents, and which ones I acquired from the St. Anselm's Abbey School and Georgetown Preparatory...

Traits I got from Mom:

• List Making - It's a long standing family joke to say that Mother is slowing turning into Nanner, and Shelley is slowly turning into Mother, but sometimes I think I myself might be turning into Mother (and Shelley and Nanner, equal same equals). I cannot go anywhere without My List. Where is My List? On this laptop, and I don't go anywhere without my laptop, and thus nowhere without My List. I have all my daily activities and To-Dos there. What's included in today's activities you might ask? Do laundry, run to Target for groceries, 20 minutes of abs with Alan, and buy ticket to Las Vegas. That's about a fifth of what's on it.
• Sleep Nazi-ing - If you don't get 9 hours of sleep, you will get sick. That isn't a hypothesis or theory, it is Law. And now I believe it, even if I tell myself it's not true. Thanks, Mom. All my patients will know this, as I have already completed 18 years of Swendiman Residency. Truly nothing can't be cured by 12 hours of uninterrupted sleep, lots of water, and a well written thank you note.
• Fast Food Guilt - I couldn't be me without a drop of Irish-Catholic guilt, manifested completely by that feeling after I chow down five items off the McDonald's Dollar Menu or grabbing a few beers. My arteries seem to clog almost instantly and the calories are going straight to my thighs (or tits more likely).
• Mild Obsessive Compulsive Issues - This is where I clearly only got 50% of the gene from Mother. I don't care if the picture frame has dust on it; it just has to face south-southwest. I have to make my bed before going to sleep, but I do it right before I get in bed at night. And it doesn't matter if condiments in my fridge are expired, as long as the ketchup is to the left of the mustard (alphabetical and rainbow order, duh.).

Traits I got from Dad:

• Night Owl Tendencies - Bag of Cheez-Its, half a Pepsi, robe, Washington Post, and a little Letterman. Traditional evening for Mr. Swendiman. Cheese and crackers, orange drank, L.L. Bean slippers, Gchat, and Sportscenter. Traditional evening for me. Honestly am I that far off these days?
• Cereal Bowl Drinking - As an elementary schooler, Pops drove us across the street to Grace every morning. I would always finish my cereal immediately when he stood up to wash his bowl, timing it perfectly. Quickly I would slurp down the rest of my cereal, mouth to edge, while the dishwasher distracted him. This habit remains, only now in the solitude of my own home.
• Tar Heel Heritage - Born, Bred, Dead. Enough said.
• Always Sitting in the Front Seat - Beneath the emergency break of Pop's Camry was the notecard that revealed who's turn in was to sit in the front seat ("Shelley" on one side, "Rob" on the other). After you got your turn, you flipped the card so the other sibling sat in the front the next day. Weekends were a good time to flip it back to your name, allowing a good 72 hours to forget Friday's lucky rider. Ah, the subterfuge. Now I just bully people for the front, or receive it automatically due to my festively floppy and long appendages (Dad, you get credit for that one too).

Traits I got from Both:

• Dashing Good Looks - It's all about the Swendimans baby (Diddy said it best).
• Hibernation - Since I don't know who to blame for my abnormal sleep habits (although I'm sure I will get calls from both parents soon, each quickly blaming the other), I have to rest this one on equal shoulders. I can sleep like the best of them. You want 12 hours? I'll put it down right now. In my life, I've been known to be outdone by the venerable Paul Weir, bed-master extraordinaire.
• Politicking - Certainly a product of the DC upbringing, a Father who's worked in quite a few Administrations, and a Mother who has provided 35 years of Social Security, Medicare, and Medicaid Law expertise. And only now have I started to read some of the reports she's given me... Nothing better than going home and having the usual 3 hour dinner and discussions about health care reform and capital gains tax.
• Athleticism - With Mom the tennis player, and Dad the left bench for the varsity Walter Johnson basketball team, the Swendiman genes provide a better breeding pool for competitive athletes than Archie Manning. Not to mention a Spartan Aunt and a JMU wide-out in the extended family. Even though I crawled until I was 18 months and couldn't walk without tripping over my own arrogance until I was four, I managed to make it to the D-1 scene. If only Pops wasn't 5'11'' in high school we'd be making NBA money right now.

Traits I got from Colm O'Colmain:

• Work Habits - I'm sure both Mom and Pops appreciate the shout out to my old Abbey friends. Sometimes the nature just rubs a bit too hard, and those good genes get down-regulated all too frequently. I grew up in the hardest working family I know, so I don't know how all this laziness crept in. Too much hustling gummy bears in the lunch room and sticky-handing Spanish mid-terms, I suppose (the latter was not my doing, Senora).
• Time Managing - Procrastination. Why do it now when it can be done later? That line has been framed in my room for years. Probably not the motivation I should be waking up to every morning.
• Inability to Take Anything Seriously - I can pinpoint this one to the day. 7th grade stickball in Intramurals. Moore House championship on the line. Full count. I hit the ball and ran around the bases without caring if I was called out. Colm's dare succeeded, I gave in, and I also managed to score a home run.
• Penchant for Blood, Not Government Service - After my Dad detailed all the public service he, Mother, and Shelley had done, President George W. Bush was left to ask, "And what do you do, son?" Not much. I'm kind of the red-headed step-child of the family. I could have showed him where the weapons of mass destruction were though (left biceps, right biceps, BAM! BAM!).

And so thank you for making me who I am. I love you both (and you too, Colm).