I'm afraid my answer turned into a poem.
What genes have I? The normal kind, the same as all my race,
The genes that stop me being blind, that rob me of my grace.
The genes that give me mother's eyes, and fathers nose and chin,
That leave me prone to be this size, the same as all my kin.
In serried ranks, the forty-six in chromosomal dance
Submit their basic building-bricks inherited by chance.
The bases join in groups of three, and thus transcription means
They build, in proteinaceous glee, the product of their genes.
My genotype I can't evoke. My phenotype is clear:
A fattish, balding, brown-eyed bloke who likes a glass of beer.