“Don’ play with your food dear, there’s a good girl. If you don’t want it, leave it on your plate,” said Anhay. “Mum?” Maya hesitatingly asked. “Yes pet,” answered Anhay. “What is it?” “I’m not trying to be some sort of iconoclast or anything. I know you don’t agree with me that members of our society must to a large extent be a product of the environment we inhabit and experience, but surely our surroundings must have some impact on our development?” “Minimally, yes. But everybody is destined to be who they are and act as they do because of their bloodline and inherited characteristics. There’s no arguing with heredity,” said Anhay hugging her little girl from behind as she sat at the dinner table. “I can’t agree. Contact, influence and experience must be what shape us,” countered a confident Maya. “You have my nose and you father’s smile. Everybody says they can tell whose family you belong to,” condescendingly smiled Anhay as if talking to a small child, which in fact she was. “The same can’t be said for Hotep. And where does Ky fit in? As far as I can see he doesn’t register either.” Maya felt she had her mother on the ropes now. “Physical looks don’t always pass from generation to generation.” Anhay went into lecture mode. “It’s in your blood. If your father was a stonemason you would become a stonemason. If your father was a farmer, you would become a farm…” “…That’s circumstances,” countered an annoyed Maya. “Not inherited characteristics. I still feel we reproduce what life shows us, not simply follow how we’re supposedly programmed to react.” “Example?” Anhay wanted to know if her 12 year old daughter had taken in what she had been taught about philosophical argument. “We’ve already discovered that inheritance doesn’t account for hair or eye- color – re Imhotep. Our whole family is a prime example of that. Height and weight also have nothing to do with inherited genes. I’m tall and skinny or short and fat because of nutritional factors, not because of the genetics inherited from you or father.” “Int’resting point,” conceded Anhay. “As I see it, the dichotomy between nurture and nature doesn’t necessarily have to be so climacteric. Surely there must be aspects of both theories that are cognisant?” Maya knew she was winning this one. So it was no surprise when the tactic of changing the subject, used by all mothers when cornered, was employed. “Anyhow, what about your little pal? The one you met at school? Are y’bringin’ her home for tea again tomorrow?” Anhay asked. “No.” “Why ever not?” Anhay asked in a concerned voice. “She’s dead.” Maya simply stated as a matter of fact. “Got dragged into the Nile by a croc on the way home from dance yesterday.” “Oh, er, never mind dear. These things happen,” replied a sorry but not surprised Anhay.
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