The Journal Times Online - Racine, Wisconsin

Like a good suitcase, those X and Y chromosomes were supposed to be jam-packed with only the best stuff.

I had hoped to outfit Sean with all kinds of admirable qualities he could use on his trip through life. My honesty. My ability to hit a 4-wood (and only a 4-wood) consistently. My chick-magnet eyelashes.

The checklist of traits I hoped to keep out of his genetic suitcase was just as long. My receding hairline. My selective listening. My temper.

Oh, dear Lord, please don’t let him inherit my temper. I’ll even give on the hairline thing.

As chief revisionist historian of the Moore family, my mom swears I wasn’t that bad as a boy. Right. Strange how my putter wrapped itself around that tree at Rainbow Springs Golf Club.

When our son began flailing and screaming several months ago, I knew exactly who was responsible. I’m prepared to plead guilty, Your Honor, and throw myself on the mercy of the court.

Wait, check that. I’d like to postpone the sentencing for a little while, if that’s OK. It’s still possible that it’s not my genes at all. Maybe we should blame the "terrible twos."

From what we’ve read, the frustration of being unable to communicate what they want is simply too much to take for some kids that age. There’s also a frustrating realization that they’re not the coddled babies anymore.

Could be it’s just a control thing, and he’d be this kind of terror no matter whose genes he got. His rage is directed daily at his oppressors — my wife and me — mostly during his mealtime captivity.

Couldn’t be me, then. My fuse blows only rarely, like Sunday afternoons from September through December. And it’s never directed at people, only faulty television screens that mistakenly show the Packers with fewer points than their opponents.

Still, this seems like too much of a coincidence to be anything but genetic payback. Watching from somewhere in heaven, my dad is laughing heartily as Sean arches his back and shrieks with enough anguish to make his arms shiver.

It’s not your fault, kiddo.

Worst-case scenario, I’ll help you to tame that beast inside. Mask it with that goofy sense of humor I endowed you with, or just make up for it with that kind streak you got from your mom.

Even better, you have the ability to change that behavior. Watching you play, I know you’re good at observing and analyzing how things work. Just like your mechanically inclined dad.

What’s that, Your Honor? Shoot, now I’ll have to plead guilty to perjury, too.