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Our parents shape who we are – who we become – through how we are raised and the genetics we possess. But which really shapes us more? Which has the greatest overall impact on who we are? These questions are the foundation of the long-standing psychological debate known as “nature vs nurture”. A debate that attempts to explain the relative influence of biology or environmental conditions on human beings. However, if you’re only half human, do these rules still apply in the same way?
This question is among one of the many similar thoughts that has left Mark Grayson in a trance, staring at his bedroom ceiling for hours on end, begging sleep to whisk away his mind into the blissful silence of sleep. A question whose answer terrified him. A question that he had pondered years ago when he first learned about it. Only he didn’t think about it back then with the dread that floods his brain today. He could repeat to himself that he wasn’t his dad as much as he wanted, but he still had his father’s blood coursing through his veins.
When he was born, Mark was a spitting image of his mother. His eyes, his smile, his hair, his nose; all carbon copies of the woman who raised him. People would joke that they could be twins, and Debbie loved comparing old baby photos of herself and her family to Mark. He was a boy filled with his mother’s wisdom. Her rightness, her moral compass, her empathy, her love. She kept him grounded, kept him accountable, and made him resilient.
As he got older, he started to look more like his father, which was to be expected. Nolan claimed that his “Viltrimite blood would become purer with age,” and the young boy should expect powers to be the next physical trait he inherited from his father. Much to the dismay of the two, his powers would not come for another couple of years. Instead, he took on traits such as his father's jaw, face shape, and eyebrows. Traits such as being stoic and strong, like his father. Their protective instincts were one and the same, throwing themselves into harm's way to defend what was important to them. Like any kid who looked up to his father, he was proud of these features and welcomed traits that made him more like his dad with open arms.
“I want to be just like you.”
Words that he had taken pride in a year and a half ago. Words that echoed with a promise, a destiny. Words whose meaning had changed from heartwarming to gut-wrenching. What if he were just like him? When he looked in the mirror, all he could see was his father staring back at him, his words cascading around his head, never giving him a moment of peace, a moment of silence, because what if it happened? What if he became just like him?
When he was a child, Mark knew nothing but love. She has just the right amount of responsiveness to create high expectations with warm, responsive communication. She wrapped Mark with warmth, filled him with strength, and whispered affection into his ear. It was the perfect environment for the young boy to thrive, to become his own individual. She was the type of mom who packed the perfect snacks in his lunch box and made all the kids sitting around Mark jealous. She was the type of mom to fight tooth and nail to make sure her son had all of the opportunities she could provide him. Although she wasn’t perfect, she was pretty damn close. Not because she had all the answers, but because everything she did was with love. Everything she did was for the well-being of Mark.
Throughout Mark’s childhood, his father was absent 80% of the time. Countless birthdays and milestones were missed without a second thought. Because he was saving the world, right? He’ll walk and talk for the rest of his life. Why are the first so important? When he was home, he spent his time reminiscing about Viltrum, either through writing his newest novel or comparing his son to “full-blooded Viltrimites. At a young age, he can remember his father scolding him for crying, saying Viltrimites don’t cry, Viltrimites can’t cry; so how was he to take his place if he isn’t a Viltrimite? That was always how Nolan corrected his son. He would say “Viltrimites do this” or “Viltrimites don’t do that” because he was so desperate to be right, to have an heir.
The meaning of this confused Mark when he was younger, and he misses that blissful ignorance. Before everything was ruined. Before he realized that in every happy memory, his father’s true intentions loomed over them, spilled out, revealing themselves later on to be so obvious that you are left to just sit and ponder “how did I not see it?”
While growing up, Mark saw nothing wrong with any of his father’s behavior. He saw nothing wrong with Nolan abandoning his mother constantly, leaving her to raise their child on her own. He saw nothing wrong with the backhanded comments his father would mutter about Mark being “too human. At the time, he thought his father was right. He needed to be more like a Viltrimite, more like Omni-Man. Maybe then he would finally get his powers, finally be a real hero flying through the sky alongside his father, maybe then his father would finally be proud of him.
So if this famous biological theory is true, does that mean he is forever destined to follow in the footsteps of his Viltrimite ancestors? Is he doomed by his genetic code and fated to ruthlessly conquer worlds, to slaughter millions, to be everything he feared? Or had his environment growing up saved him? Did nature ultimately determine nothing of his future but his powers?
Did the humane warmth of his mother melt away the cold Viltrimite desire to destroy?
What is a child if not a reflection of their parents' scars? What is a son without the strength and stubbornness of his father? Without the brains and compassion of his mother?
Questions that echo off the walls of his bedroom, as darkness finally starts to overtake Mark’s vision. Answers to which he so desperately seeks but is fearful to know. Answers too complex to appear out of thin air, waiting to be snatched up like a slow-falling leaf. Answers to which, deep down, Mark Grayson knew, and has always known.