By David Margolin
“How many times do I have to tell you, Nick? Keep your arm hair out of the soup!”
That warning from my adoptive mother was one thing that tipped me off that I was a little different. Another clue--I was much more passionate about watching the Flintstones than the other kids.
My childhood wasn’t easy. I endured the taunting: “Hey, caveman, swing from any trees lately? What’s happening down there, shorty?” But there were benefits. My physique was perfect for wrestling: stocky, sturdy, and surprisingly strong for my 5’3”. I could have won all of my wrestling matches, but lacking the killer instinct that my opponents had, I often let them win. I excelled in Shop Class, showing a knack for making weapons and tools instead of the assigned letter openers and pen holders.
My adoptive parents didn’t know anything about my birth parents, and I didn’t think about my heritage much, but then I was gifted a DNA test kit. Bombshell! I don’t have 1-2 % Neanderthal DNA like many people, or 5 %, or 10 %—I am 51 %, Neanderthal!
When I began to date, I wondered which date was the proper one for disclosing the fact that I am predominantly of a different species? First date scenario: “Hi, I’m Nick, and I am a Neanderthal.” Honest, but it could be misinterpreted as coming on too strong. On the other hand, the longer I waited, the more I opened myself up to the accusation of concealing crucial personal information. My planned defense: They didn’t ask what species I belong to on the dating app. I decided to play the disclosure issue by ear.
By the fourth date, Helen and I had shared a lot of personal information, and I had managed to keep my body hair out of my food. I still hadn’t figured out how to break the genetic news to her when she said, “I like you; you’re different.”
“You have no idea how right you are. I am mostly a Neanderthal man,” I said reflexively. She took the news without blinking an eye, and the next day she took me home to meet her family. Helen was pretty competitive, even for a homo sapien, and I think that she viewed having a boyfriend of a different species as a victory: trumping her brother, who was in a same-sex relationship; her sister, who was married to herself (for the second time); and her parents, who were merely a bi-racial couple.
Helen’s dad, Steve, was the easiest to win over. I gave him one of my bone-crushing handshakes, and he started calling me “Son.”
Helen’s sister, Harriett, was a little peculiar. She was very busy assembling the photo album from her recent second self-marriage, but she agreed to a 10-minute Zoom meeting. Our point of connection: She had a moderate case of hirsutism. My first gift to her was a one-year subscription to the online journal, ”Self Help for Hairy People.” I wonder what her Neanderthal percentage is, but I still haven’t figured out a tactful way to gift her a DNA-testing kit.
Helen’s mom, Betty, took a little longer to warm up to me. She asked about my ethnic background a few times. She seemed satisfied, even a little titillated, when I told her that I was a distant relative of the Kardashians, a family no less peculiar looking than me. We started watching “Keeping Up With the Kardashians” together, but their neighbors pulled the plug on the pirated E! Connection (Homo sapiens like to get things for free).
Eventually, I felt comfortable enough with Helen’s family to reveal my DNA status. “I love it,” said Betty. We can be the first inter-species family on Family Feud! We wore matching caveman costumes, lasted 5 rounds, and won a new car (electric, not foot powered).
After the show aired, I had my 15 minutes of fame: interviews, magazine covers, and commercial endorsements for hair-growth products. The public lost interest as soon as the next sensational news story burst: Megan Markle was found cheating on Prince Harry with Kanye West (after he changed his name back from Ye).
Anthropologists speculate that Neanderthals were more caring, more altruistic, and less competitive than Homo sapiens. I know that I have never experienced road rage, have no desire to pay for extra legroom on airplanes and don’t brag about my bigger brain. People still stare a lot, but I am convinced they are staring with envy as Helen and our three kids, Paul, Sally, and Roy, walk by (just about upright). Roy resembles me the most, and it brings back memories when I hear Helen say, “Roy, keep your arm hair out of the soup!”
David graduated from Boston University (Psychology/Pre-Med) and has practiced Neurology in various settings for several decades. David has published lots of scientific/technical articles and edited one textbook on cognitive neuropsychology. David writes many medically-focused emails daily as part of his job. Throughout his life, he has been verbally funny. Now he's working on being funny in writing.