[Re-posted from 2015-09-25]
Even before I was born, I feel God was involved in my life. My gene pool is one of those you’d say needs a little “Clorox” poured into it. My paternal grandmother, maiden name Meeks, carried quite a few hereditary diseases…most likely from past generations of inbreeding. The first bad gene, it would skip me…the second one…well, it would change my life forever.
That first disease, muscular dystrophy, had shown up twice in my grandmother’s children and grandchildren. My uncle Lewis, her youngest child, would succumb to the disease as a teenager. Later on, Danny (her grandchild) would also fall victim to this devastating affliction but not before reaching his twenties.
My family was worried that I too would be born with muscular dystrophy. It wasn’t to be…nor would any of my siblings be affected by this menace.
I remember as a child, every Labor Day, my dad would be glued to the television to watch Jerry Lewis’ Muscular Dystrophy Telethon. It wasn’t until later in life that I understood why. I suppose even inside the evil shell of man my dad was…there was still a little bit of humanity. I suspect it was more heartache than anything else. Having to watch your little brother die in such a cruel manner. Not an easy thing to do. I have more about “little brothers” to tell in later posts.
