Some time ago I was navigating my way through rush-hour traffic in Dallas. While I was “parked” somewhere on Interstate 35 near downtown, a billboard caught my eye.
In bright yellow letters set against a purple background, a question was posed: “Who’s the father?” Below the question, in smaller black letters a phone number was provided: “1-800-DNA-TYPE.”
I blinked hard and took off my glasses. I looked again and focused intensely. To my dismay, I discovered that I had indeed read the sign correctly.
Now, I am not naïve, and I am aware there are women who are so promiscuous that upon discovering they are pregnant, need to play “eenie-meenie-minie-moe” to have some clue as to who the father might be. I just did not realize there were so many.
The presence of the billboard strongly suggests there are enough women in the Dallas Metroplex playing an intimate game of musical chairs to warrant the marketing of DNA testing.
In truth, I did not want to believe our culture had sunk so low. “Surely,” I thought to myself, “we conduct ourselves better than mere animals.” However, an Internet search turned up hundreds of DNA testing companies operating throughout the Untied States.
It seems promiscuity has become so prevalent — and society has become so depraved — that we now have a niche market of consumers in need of services designed to establish paternity.
While I understand that DNA testing is utilized for a variety of reasons, it is clear that laboratories are making their pitch to what they perceive is a large and lucrative market: pregnant women who have been physically intimate with more than one person.
One of things I have always believed separated the species of man from all other animals on the planet is man’s ability to control desires and/or urges. Whether the desire is to hit someone, kill someone or commit adultery with someone, man has the capacity to say no to such urges. Animals do not possess such ability. They simply act according to their instinct.
I once had a cat that was very promiscuous. She was always strutting off with any Tom, Dick or Harry that purred in her direction. No matter what we did, that cat always found a way to slip away and spend time with her admirers. She was a slave to her urges.
Had I not taken action to curb my cat’s ability to reproduce, I might have needed to call a DNA testing company. After all, I certainly would want my cat’s kittens to know who their father was.
Promiscuous women are not alone in bearing responsibility for the existence of the “Who’s the father?” billboard. It does, after all, take two to tango. There are a significant number of men in the Dallas area who are willing to play, but even more willing to pass the buck when it comes time to pay for their actions.
I am sure the existence of an indenti-daddy service is a great comfort to women needing to know where to look for child support. And I doubt many of the men involved with women dialing 1-800-DNA-TYPE are fighting for the privilege of being called daddy.
Apparently the sexual habits of many Americans resemble that of a rabbit. Rather than transcending animals, it seems we are emulating them. Could the existence of the “Who’s the father” billboard be evidence to suggest a theory of de-evolution?
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[Original illustration at this number was a duplicate of HolwickID #16734]