Last night I celebrated my 35th birthday at The Cheesecake Factory near Southcenter Mall. My birth father, R., his wife, and my two sisters by him joined our family for dinner. We had a really nice time. It's been a long time since we all connected, even though we all live in the same state.

While we waited for our dinners to arrive, we quizzed Zion on math: If R. is 63, how old was he when I was born? What is the age difference between me and my sister M? What about me and A? At one point, Zion got out a pen and a napkin to do the math. He wrote his numbers the way he usually does, backwards and transposed. That's when R. said, "Is he dyslexic? I am, too." I asked him if he had trouble in school, and he said, "S&*^, yes."

I was stunned. We know Zion's learning disability has a strong genetic component on his father's side. The entire paternal male line struggles with a learning issue of one kind or another. And then to discover that my father, Zion's biological grandfather, has dyslexia, I knew for sure that Zion is just one in a long line of men who struggle with learning.

There are many genetic attributes Zion has inherited. His charm, his birthmark on his tummy, his tendency to make crazy comments. Those traits are endearing ... "He's just like Uncle Stan, isn't he?" Or, "Can you believe he's got the same birthmark R. has?" But I wonder. Is this something that he will pass down to his male children? Will Maya pass it on to her male children? Could science, perhaps, isolate whatever genetic mutation has caused this and remove it from our genetic code?

As we finished our dinner and stared in disbelief at the outrageous bills presented to us, I noticed R. looking at my children and his with pride. Whether I think he deserves to be proud is not the issue ... we all have part of him in us, good, bad, or indifferent. What Zion got from him, and from his father and his father's father, we just have to work hard to overcome.