It was not long after I trekked off to college that I discovered for the first time my blood type, O¯. Cool, right? – Universal Donor. I can donate blood to anyone who needs it – despite their blood type. Made me feel pretty good, ya’ think?
I immediately phoned home because I had already sunk deep in despair. “What? What was wrong with you?”
Well, I need to give you some background. It became obvious to me that for the first 17 years of my life, my parents had lied to me! You see, I knew my dad’s blood type – it was 0+ and my mom’s was A+. So how did I turn out to be O¯?
My two brothers and I used to kid each other whenever one of us would do something really off-the-wall, something notably bizarre. We would say, “Who’s kid are you?” and this was back in the day when milk was delivered right to your door; so we would add, “You must be the milkman’s kid!”
So on the phone, I accused my mom on account of her longstanding prevarication, “Why didn’t you and dad tell me the truth? Did you think I was too fragile to accept my reality?”
“And what reality might that be, Bobby?” my mom countered.
“That I’m not your son – that you adopted me.” I then went on to explain my newly-gleaned understanding, affirmed by the basic laws of mathematics – that two positives can’t equal a negative. (I soon learned that math and genetic equations don’t overlap when considering the double recessive gene pool. Oops.)
My mom, in her own inimitable way, stated emphatically, “Oh, trust me – you’re mine all right – all
10lb. 6oz. of you I delivered in the dead of winter before we ever had a car to take us to the hospital.And the pain you put me thru – not just then – but ever since; even now. Oh, you’re mine alright – but I’m sorely tempted to alter this pronto!”
Well enough about my now-distant overreaction; but it does serve to introduce this Sunday morning’s sermon subject, “Who’s my daddy?” Why not attend come Sunday to learn about this topic, but from a spiritual vantage point?
