Those of us who have IBS ("irritable blogger syndrome") are naturally analytical. We wonk to live, and live to wonk. In my areas of wonkery -- fitness, nutrition, health, human performance -- the discussion often touches on genetics.

As a child, I could never figure out why I was so passionate about playing sports but so bad at actually playing them. Not only was I skinny, slow, weak, and modestly coordinated, my body sabotaged me at every turn. I had poor vision, was plagued by foot and ankle injuries, and wrecked my right shoulder the first time I attempted a tackle in a high school football game.

I wanted to play as much as I wanted to do anything in life that required clothing, but I flat-out sucked.

It made no sense to me: My father was a big guy who'd been a marine drill sergeant. My older brother was stronger and had magnificent coordination, even if he was more injury prone. My younger sister and two of my younger brothers were also more athletic. Now that I have kids, I get to ask all the same questions, only without feeling sorry for myself.

I see my son has the same frame I had, and the same lack of coordination. But he's blessed with a nearly complete lack of interest in sports.

My older daughter is almost my opposite: She's short for her age, while I was relatively tall until high school. She's strong, fast, and fearless on the field, but doesn't seem to think much about sports unless she's playing them.

Then there's my younger daughter, the enigma. Three years ago, when she was four, she seemed to have really good balance and running form. But she lost it. For no discernible reason, her running became awkward, like she had borrowed someone else's feet and legs. Her real feet and legs showed up again a couple weeks ago when, out of the blue, she started playing soccer in a game the way she used to play in our backyard.

But by far the weirdest, least fathomable aspect of family life is the evolution of our kids' food choices. I hated broccoli as a kid, and even now can't stand the look, smell, taste or texture of cooked cauliflower. But my younger daughter loves broccoli, and all three eat cauliflower. I never imagined any kid wouldn't like bananas, but neither of my daughters will touch them. The list of what each kid will or won't eat is long, bizarre, and shows no consistent pattern. Neither my wife nor I can recall similar cravings and quirks from our own childhoods -- we liked and disliked entirely different things.

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