Martin has many parts of his personality that I can say with certainty are a result of his environment.  Like when we're all in the yard doing some work and I turn around and notice that's he's taking a leak in the fresh open air - I know that this is because my dad told him that it's okay for him to do so.  When he tells me that he'd like a burger and coffee for breakfast, it's because I've let him (oh come on, it's leftovers and the coffee is decaf, who wouldn't like that for breakfast?).  But there are some things that he does that I don't believe he's actually seen any of us do.  And although I'm not a geneticist, I believe I've stumbled across a definitive indicator that Martin has received an underreported gene from Marty known as "Junior High Boy Genome*", or JHBG.  It's early for him to start to show these genetic tendencies, but I think that Martin may be an overachiever, so I'm just not that surprised.

I offer you these three case studies, providing proof that Martin does indeed have JHBG:

Case Study 1: Garment Removal.  To remove underwear, most people will simply reach down, pull off the drawers and place them in a laundry basket.  It's a quiet affair, something a bit private perhaps.  For those with JHBG, the task is different - it's something that draws attention.  It may start with a series of fast jumps in the hopes that the underwear will fall down to the floor on their own.  If that doesn't work, then the underwear will be lowered to the floor, but still remain resting on the feet.  At that point, the boy drops a swift kick to launch the underwear a great distance.  If it's a really good day, the underwear will land somewhere other than the floor - high places are always best.  These will be left dangling or laying in a heap until a mother walks past them and notices them hanging off of the blinds or bookshelf or toybox.
Editorial note:  Ever notice a scar on Marty's chin?  He obtained this scar when he was a child after falling off of his dresser, where his underwear were dangling, after he'd power-kicked it off of his foot.  This is just ADDITIONAL proof that it's a genetic trait, and that obviously Marty had early-onset JHBG as well.

Case Study 2: Pausing While Passing.  When we were in late elementary school, or maybe it was even junior high, I remember playing "Truth or Dare" with a group of friends.  At this point in our lives, most of the "truths" were about who you liked, and no one wanted to admit that, so almost everyone picked a dare.  "Dares" were almost always comprised of various foods pulled out of the fridge that you would be required to eat.  An ice cream cone filled with mustard.  A sandwich made out of hot sauce.  Gross combinations of all things liquid that you'd have to drink.  I could deal with most of those, but one time, I was dealt the most hideous hand.  I had to sit on the floor while one of the guys farted in my face.  Even now, I almost cannot type this without wanting to go outside to get some fresh air.  My eyes are squinted and I'm finding myself breathing very shallowly through my mouth.  IT WAS THAT BAD.  THE WHOLE EXPERIENCE.  EVEN NOW.

So, the other day, I was sitting on the floor playing with the kids when Martin came over and stood next to me.  He hovered a little bit, just kind of looking at me.  He smiled.  And waited.  And then it hit me.  "Oh Martin!  Was that YOU?  Did you just have GAS?  Right next to my FACE?"  I yelled, fanning my face and trying to roll out of the way of the noxious wave still following me.

And he laughed.  He's FOUR and he doesn't even KNOW that guy I grew up with.  It has to be JHBG.

Case Study 3: Making a Point.  If you spend much time with Martin, you'll probably notice that he talks A LOT.  And sometimes, I need just a tiny bit of a break.  It's not that I don't love listening to what he has to say, but sometimes I just need a moment that is silent.  Since this quiet time rarely comes, I've noticed that at times I just mentally tune out from all of the action.  This never really lasts for long, since someone usually starts hanging on my legs until my pants almost fall down or starts whining in that particularly high pitch that no human can ignore. 

The other morning, while the kids were having breakfast, I was standing at the counter typing an email on my laptop, and all was quiet.  I felt a poke on my left hip.
"Mom," Martin said.
"Yes," I answered.  Another poke, this time on my butt.
"Hey.  Jiggly Butt." Poke, poke.  "Hey.  Jiggly Butt."  Poke, poke, poke.

Obviously - JHBG.  And for the record, I'm not that jiggly.

*Scientific Note: Actual proper usage of the word genome is not used here.  I don't really know the proper usage, but since this isn't a scientific journal, I'm not too concerned.