Date: Tue, 28 Nov 2000 00:21:27 -0800 (PST)
From: JT Michcock <jtmichcock@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Choice (Sci Fi No Sex)
The Choice
JT Michcock
Code: Sci Fi/Fantasy
Loyola University, Chicago, Illinois
May 22, 2122
Dr. Dan Greiner walked into his boss's office, a smile on his face
and the silver data disk held tightly in his hand. He had an interesting
study. Dr. Willis would be extremely pleased with his work on this
project.
"Got it all?" asked Willis peering over his monitor at his assistant.
The older Doctor had been intrigued by the preliminary report Greiner had
supplied him with.
"Yes, and it's one of the better ones," responded Greiner, taking his
usual seat across from his mentor. "This comes from the intra-planetary
net, circa 2049."
Willis cupped his hands in front of him and leaned back in his chair.
"Go on."
"This originated from the Chicago area Legacy Project," continued
Greiner. "The data was discovered on a local optical data platform
running a light speed limited quantum protocol. It was sitting in a
warehouse waiting to be discarded."
"How long is the biography?" asked Willis, examining the contents of
the display screen.
"Fairly short," responded Greiner, placing the data disk on the desk,
"but intact as far as I can tell."
Willis moved forward and picked up the silver object. After
examining the casing, he plugged it into one of the modules. On the side
monitor, holographs containing reconstituted DNA profiles and ancestor
charts were all plotted. Everything seemed to be in order. After Willis
checked the algorithms showing the anthropological data and then began a
review of the text.
"Computer, display item 004/LOY-32," said Willis as Greiner arose and
joined him in observing the flickering monitor.
----------------------------------------------------
Database: Legacy Project/NAP
Entered by MRicelli@med.osteo.32259
Storage date: December 19, 2049
Creation Date: N/A
This is my contribution to the Legacy Project. I'm writing this so
that people will understand what happened and why. I know that the
decision I made was right.
Tuesday, October 3, 2045
I remember the phone call. I woke up and looked at the clock as the
second ring began. It was 3:12 a.m. I wasn't even on-call.
I picked up the phone and croaked out a "hello" that I hoped was
understood.
"Doctor Michael Ricelli?" asked a woman's voice on the other end.
This wasn't one of the nurses I was used to hearing at this time of the
morning. I knew that much.
"Yes?" I responded, my brain and speaking voice slowly clicking into
gear. I heard Steve waking up.
"Dr. Ricelli," continued the woman. "I'm afraid there's been an
accident."
I slowly absorbed the information. I could feel my body start to
tense. I got out of bed and put my feet on the floor. My breathing was
labored. The woman identified herself as a social worker at Hong Kong
General Hospital.
It was my brother and sister-in-law. Something happened. They were
dead.
My brother Sam and his wife Cheryl were in Hong Kong on some sort of
business trip. I'd spoken to them just the prior week. They were due
back in a couple of days for a delayed first birthday party for my nephew
Bryan.
No, I thought, this can't be happening.
What about my nephew? My heartbeat was audible as I attempted to
focus on the person on the other end.
Bryan was okay. Thank God.
What happened? Steve was getting up beside me. He was catching on
that there was something wrong and I felt his hand on my shoulder.
Sam and Cheryl were in a transport heading to a business lunch. Bryan
was with a sitter at the hotel. Some kid ran his transport into theirs.
They were all killed instantly.
Bryan was in the custody of the local children's welfare authorities.
The rest of the conversation was a blur. I wrote down the
instructions and phone numbers I needed to know. Transportation
schedules, yes, I have those. Yes, I could be at the airport any time.
I hung up the phone after I was certain I had all the information I
needed. Steve was on the bed beside me all the time, supporting me. He
knew what had happened. Instinctively, I moved into his arms.
For a while I was silent. I was still in shock. As the images
flowed through my brain, Steve held me close to him. I remembered Sam and
I at home many years ago, sitting around the dinner table. I remembered
being at his wedding and going to see them at the hospital after Bryan was
born. That was just a little over a year ago.
Poor Bryan would never know his parents.
Thursday, October 5, 2045
The airport was as busy as usual. I had gotten there three hours
early. I couldn't stand sitting around at home. Steve us drove there.
He had been incredibly supportive.
As I paced the floor nervously, I went through my mental checklist.
The surgical schedule was all set. I had two other doctors covering my
rotations. The very expensive but highly recommended nanny was set to
arrive the following morning. My attorney was handling the estate
matters. Baby furniture from Sam and Cheryl's house was being set up in
the guest room. The den was in the process of being converted into the
nanny's quarters. I even had two baby transport seats, one as a back up.
Mom and Dad had flown in from Arizona and were all checked in at the
local Hyatt. Dad didn't look too good and hadn't been doing well for a
while. I told them to wait at our condominium while Steve and I took care
of matters at the airport.
My younger brother and I weren't really close. Much of this distance
was because I was ten years older than he. My parents hadn't expected in
their mid-forties for Sam to arrived. I smiled, recalling that I was now
facing similar circumstances.
The other factor that kept us apart was the fact that I was gay.
Although he never said anything, I always knew that Sam never really
accepted that I was different. There was a wall between us that neither
one of us had ever confronted. I hung my head down. That barrier could
never be removed.
I thought about my sister-in-law Cheryl, whom I had met only a few
times. She had lost her entire family in the Australian civil war.
Raised in an orphanage, she came over here as a college student and met my
brother in school.
I took a deep breath and sat down. It had been three days since this
happened. A new chapter in my life was beginning. At the age of 45, I
was about to become a parent. I looked up at the display screen, I felt
the tension creep back into my body. The plane had arrived.
I paced nervously until I saw a pretty Asian woman walking through
the gate. One of the workers from the Chinese Children's Agency, she
recognized me instantly from my pictures. Bryan was her arms; he was
bundled and dressed appropriately for the Chicago fall weather. His head
was covered and I only could see a little of his face popping out.
But what a cute face it was, as he looked at me wide-eyed with a mix
of fear and anxiety. The poor kid had been through so much.
The worker gently handed Bryan over to me and I hugged him tightly.
I could hear his heart race and his breath rush out of his body. He felt
so alive.
Monday, October 9, 2045
The wait in the pediatrician's office was somewhat of a culture
shock for me. I was used to being on the other side of the waiting room.
A couple of mothers and their children, were with me there as well. I got
quizzical glances from both mothers. From their expressions, both must
have been contemplating the whereabouts of Bryan's mother. There usually
were not a lot of dads in this office.
So far things were working out well. Steve was great with the baby
and they hit it off immediately. Steve had an advantage. He actually had
a teen-aged son from a rather abbreviated marriage. I always asked Steve
what he thought of my parenting skills and he was more than happy to
advise. He was also great about moving his son, Josh, out of the guest
room, where he usually stayed when visiting. A spot on the couch would
have to do until we could figure how to accommodate both kids.
Finally, a the nurse led me into the examination room and placed
Bryan on the examination table. She told me that Dr. Morgan was waiting
to see me and I replied that I knew the way to her office.
Annie Morgan and I had been the best of friends in medical school.
She was the one who urged me to get into the orthopedic residency program
in the first place. Over the years, I had even operated on one of Annie's
daughter's legs that had been badly broken in a fall. Now since both her
girls were in high school their mother returned to practicing medicine
full-time.
As I sat there, I realized that I had never thought I would find
myself in need of a pediatrician.
Annie had came to Sam and Cheryl's funeral. I could not have asked
for a better friend nor a better doctor to take care of my nephew. When
she called insisting that she squeeze Bryan into her schedule, I could
hardly decline.
As I walked into Annie's rather small office, she got up smiling from
behind her desk and we silently embraced.
"How are you Mike?" she asked releasing me.
"As well as can be expected," I responded. Annie returned back to
her desk, still smiling, but not as much. Something was going on. I knew
her facial expressions.
"Is everything okay?" I asked as I sat down.
"Fine," she responded with a nod, returning back to full beam. "And
how is your practice?"
"Very good, very successful," I said. I couldn't help but notice
that she had changed the subject rather abruptly.
Annie turned away from me and to her monitor to access some data.
Turning back, I could tell that there was something on her mind. "You're
probably wondering why I wanted to see you on such short notice."
I shrugged, "like you said, to check on Bryan I suppose. He's been
through a lot."
"Well, it's more than that," she said, her face taking a slightly
downcast look. "Bryan was examined by Dr. Renaldo, Sam and Cheryl's
pediatrician, on his first birthday a few weeks ago. He came through with
flying colors."
"Okay," I said in puzzlement. In hindsight, I should have known what
was coming next. The medical professional inside of me must have been
asleep, replaced by the mind set of an anxious and confused uncle.
One year examination. I should have known what was coming.
"I spoke to Dr. Renaldo right after you let me know what happened,"
Annie continued, now biting her lip nervously. "Bryan tested positive on
sixteen of the Breen factors."
For a few seconds, I just stared blankly at the desktop. The
information sank quickly into my brain. There was no need to explain the
Breen factor to me. I had tested myself during medical school. There
were only sixteen factors at that point. Two more awaited discovery. I
tested positive for the genetic alleles on twelve of those factors.
That's what made me gay.
I knew the math. Depending on the strength of the gene alleles and
pre-natal hormone levels, seven to nine positives meant a person was
probably homosexual in orientation, with a very small fraction being
bisexual. More than ten and a person would be, as I was, homosexual.
I grasped the arm rests of the chair. Sixteen of eighteen meant
almost certainly that Ryan would grow up to be gay. And if certain
factors were high, he would likely be effeminate.
"I realize that this is a shock to you," Annie continued. "But you
needed to know this now. Time is a problem."
A problem. Yes, I knew. The physician in me was gradually coming to
the surface. To achieve total success, a developmentally normal boy
should begin therapy between the twelfth and thirteenth month. There was
a chance of incomplete adherence after this.
Bryan was going to be thirteen-months-old in six days. A shudder
went up my spine as I put an actual face to the dry statistics. This was
my nephew we were discussing. And I was responsible for his care.
A thought suddenly crossed my mind. "Annie, you said that Bryan had
been examined three weeks ago," I asked. "Is there any reason why the
genetic therapy was not begun at that point?"
Annie's face displayed some confusion. "I spoke to Dr. Renaldo and
he told me that Sam and Cheryl wanted to wait until after they had gotten
back from Hong Kong to start the procedure."
"He wasn't sure exactly why," she continued, "but they had been
scheduled to go to the gene lab two days ago."
A lightbulb went off. Three days before today was supposed to be
Bryan's birthday party. I was going to be there. Did that have something
to do with the delay? Did Sam want to talk to me about it? Did he want
my opinion? Maybe he wanted to ask not as a brother, but as a doctor?
"I'd like to start genetic treatment within three days," Annie
continued. "Since you're Bryan's legal guardian, I need your
authorization."
"I know," I said blankly. At that point, I placed my situation in
the context of others. The genetic/hormonal treatment was a fairly
routine and inexpensive procedure. Only in a few "third world" countries
where medical standards were less than ideal did reports of problems ever
surface. The process was worldwide and had been in use for some thirty
years now. Even religious groups opposed to medical care approved this
procedure for their members.
"Mike," Annie said, her face tightened, "may I be perfectly blunt?"
"I never stopped you before," I said, my smile finally returning.
"Most parents know the orientation before the baby is born," she
said, returning my smile. "Parents usually have a long time to consider
this and weigh all the factors."
"You, on the other hand, are an unusual case," continued Annie,
folding her hands in front of her. "You're an instant father. I'm not
going to go into details about what is involved medically because you know
those. However, you need to deal with the emotional aspects."
I nodded. I knew what she was telling me. Most parents and
guardians weren't gay.
Annie focused her attention on pulling up the display. Peering over
her shoulder, I recognized the screen's output. Standard genetic
readouts. I was more accustomed to seeing factors for osteoporosis and
other bone disorders. The sixteen alleles indicating homosexuality were
colored red on the screen.
"The timing appears optimal," Annie said, busily working on
assembling the profile. "There should be absolutely no problem with
adherence." With this, she handed me a card with the name and address of
the genetics lab. On the back was the date, October 12, and the time,
3:30 p.m.
"Do I have your authority?" Annie asked.
I looked up from the card and directly into her eyes. "I guess," I
said, barely above a whisper.
"You can always change your mind," said Annie as she recorded my
approval on the charts. I nervously fiddled with the card until placing
it into my pocket.
"Annie," I said, somewhat hesitantly, "do many parents say 'no'?"
Annie turned around and looked me straight in the eye. "Mike," she
said, "in the last fifteen years, you can count the number of refusals
worldwide in the dozens."
I was a scientist by both training and nature; I never accepted any
medical treatment blindly. I had to research this, to have a logical
basis upon which to make my decision. On the way back from Annie's
office, I dropped off Ryan with his nanny, Evelyn, and headed off to the
library.
I called Steve en route. He promised to try to get home before
midnight despite the pile of tax returns on his desk. I told him that
everything had been fine at the doctor's office.
Arriving at the library, I took up my usual position at one of the
far away carrels. Although I could call up any of the information from my
home computer, I found I could better focus on my research here. The
library was never busy and I found the solitude comforting.
I started with the historical database, checking out the summaries.
I first pulled up materials on the discovery of the double helix structure
of deoxyribose nucleic acid in the 1950s. Basic biochemistry. Jumping
ahead, I looked at the materials from around 1980 and the infancy of the
genetics industry. The first apparent biological differences between
straight and gay men was revealed in 1991. A genetic link was discovered
in 1993, traced to the X chromosome and indicating that gay men inherited
at least one critical gene from their mother.
I cross referenced the sociological databases and the politics
during this time were very strange. Religious sorts often referred to a
gay "preference," as though it was something that could be selected from
the local supermarket. I shook my head. Some of this material was
ridiculous.
I accessed multiple resources about the Human Genome Project, its
first draft completed in June, 2000, less than a years after I was born.
After identifying the genes, science turned to the task of determining the
function of each individual gene. Some of the things discovered proved
disquieting. Genes were linked not just to the expected factors for eye
color, hair texture and ear lobe shape, but for temperament and
predispositions for certain behaviors. With supercomputers doing the
analysis, you could predict a person's basic temperament and habits from
their DNA.
The biologists of the era were quickly developing methods of altering
the genetic components. A boy with Duchenne muscular dystrophy was cured
in 2003. Overnight, genetic science had repaired an affliction that had
thrown so many generations into turmoil.
Governmental and private spending increased at an exponential rate.
Before long, new methods were being developed for genetic repair and
modification. Sub dermal microchips, some of the first of the quantum
processing model, led to a cures for diabetes and other disorders. Germ
cell modification, changing the genetic structure of sperm and eggs, was
soon possible.
In 2008, Dr. Robert Breen of the leading bio-genetics research team
at Yale, announced that his team had discovered eighteen different genetic
and hormonal factors that were all related to male homosexuality. The
causes of the distaff version with its sixty-four elements would be
discovered five years later. The discovery sent a cultural shockwave
through the world.
For the gay community back then, the results were deemed a boon. At
last, there was a palpable demonstration that homosexuality was not
something a person "chose," but one foreordained by the individual's
biology.
As I ran through the publications of the day, I pulled up a cover of
a March 8, 2010 Newsweek. A chill ran up my spine. I remembered the
cover as though I had seen in yesterday; the multicolored DNA helix with
the ancient icon for masculinity a circle with an arrow pointing from
the right-hand top. I didn't even need to read the headline for the
article, "Homosexuality and Genetics," because the article was burned into
my memory.
I turned away from the screen and shifted my eyes over to the rows
of books. I looked around, feeling somewhat self-conscious. I was
concerned that my body may have displayed surprise. Thankfully, nobody
was even close to my cubicle and I let out my breath.
I looked at the screen. I was in the bathroom when I first read the
articles. It was after midnight and I couldn't sleep. And I was only ten
years old.
I changed the screen again, going back to the main index. This was
digging up a bad memory I didn't want to confront. I took a deep breath
and blocked it from my mind.
I turned next to the Egyptian government's 2011 announcement that it
was implementing treatment for homosexuality through genetic and hormonal
alterations. With a good portion of the treatment imposed upon the prison
population with the genetic markers, Egyptians soon discovered that
genetic repairs in adult gay men would create impotence instead of
heterosexuality, as well as lead to increased heart and pulmonary
failures. It simply was not safe for an adult.
However, the adverse results were not present in very young male
children predisposed to homosexual orientations. It appeared that, if
administered right after their first year, the treatment would not
endanger the children. Initial reports showed the children after the
experiments demonstrated more "typical" behavior for boys than did a
random control group of untreated children.
Most countries of the world, whether due to cultural or religious
reasons, adopted the Egyptian method. In the United States, debate over
the topic was rancourous. In 2013, a flood of parents were crossing the
Mexican border seeking readily available therapies that, due to the
intervention of liberal and gay activist groups, were barred in the United
States.
I watched a clip of the Senate Committee on Genetics. Barbara
Jacobs, the Governor of New York and an open lesbian, spoke harshly about
the ramifications of such "treatments" on the gay community. Senator
Karen Hillman took up the questioning after Jacobs described some of the
past prejudices against gays and lesbians having contact with children.
SEN. HILLMAN: I have to agree with you that I do not
see any problem with children having contact with gays
and lesbians, I think the clinical results demonstrate that
its of absolutely no effect.
GOV. JACOBS: I think we are in agreement with that,
Senator.
SEN. HILLMAN: And I'm also certain that it would not matter
to you or to the members of your family if your nieces some
day related to you that they were lesbians.
The camera was focused on Governor Jacob's face. Her wordless
response displayed her feelings. Her lower lip shaking, the Governor
responded hesitantly "not at all." No one could miss that the body
language that said "I hope not."
Whatever the origin of the betrayed feelings, family related or
otherwise, the political impact was profound. Repeated day after day on
news broadcasts all over the world, the exchange sent the star of Senator
Hillman into orbit. At her inaugural address on January 20, 2021,
President Hillman noted that "words chosen must match the true feelings of
the individual." Critics took it as a backhanded remark targeted at the
then former New York Governor.
INTRODUCE JOSHUA
Even before the election, things were changing. By 2015, the FDA
approved implementation of the first genetic engineering program to modify
homosexual genetic and hormonal activities in males. A program for
females was allowed the next year.
The children who were treated were done so as anonymously as
possible, with harsh criminal sanctions imposed upon those who revealed
the identities of the "gay" children. After a while, though,parents made
no secret about their children receiving treatment. The genetic and
hormonal therapy had a pleiotropic effect of producing children more
emblematic of the masculine and feminine ideal. This became a source of
pride.
The boys would be more aggressive, increasingly prone to follow their
competitive instincts. Discipline problems emerged early. Corporal
punishment, unheard of when I was in school, became commonplace in
classrooms, replacing the dulling effects of the psychotropic medicines.
With girls, there was an increase in their maternal tendencies and
the need for a close, and caring environment. The increased sense of
modesty common to girls, inspired by both their genes as well as the
culture, were reinforced. Society had to modify the rules to fit the new
reality. Open locker areas and corporal punishment were unthinkable.
Intellectual development was also showing an amazing degree of
differences in aptitude. Boys developed slowly and erratically, but with
flashes of brilliance. Girls became even steadier and more predictable in
their development.
There were problems created with interactions between the two sexes.
Pornography became more muted as the new "community standards" took hold.
Kids were growing up in ways not seen for a century, with the concept of
unchaperoned teenagers regarded as unthinkable. The expression that
"women civilize men" was an accepted credo. After reaching maturity, a
man who hit a woman or failed to support his spouse or children (absent
some sort of disabling condition) faced social ostracism of the worst
sort.
Across the world was a sea change in gender relations. "Individual
differences," as President Hillman stated, "must not be allowed to trump
the reality of gender. The best provider for a family is the father. The
best care giver for a child is a woman. Legislating equality is in no
one's interest when we all know that the reverse is true." A compliant
legislature enacted laws that reinforced these stereotypes.
By the end of her presidency, Mrs. Hillman had secured the repeal of
most provisions of Title VII of the Civil Rights Act and similar laws. In
2027, the President ended the ever decreasing female enrollment at the
military academies by reestablishing all-male student bodies. In high
schools throughout the country, same sex education became common for at
least part of the school day.
Mothers began staying home while fathers went into the workforce.
Women left employment after marrying and only returned as children reached
their teens. Women in the workforce found laws designed particularly for
their sensibilities.
States began restoring laws that gave women a presumption in custody
matters. Alimony was something a husband seeking a divorce could expect
to pay. However, divorce rates were lowered to levels not seen since the
early part of the last century.
A sort of chivalry was returning to the nation, but with a decidedly
different genesis. This wasn't misguided paternalism, but a respect for
the components that made the genders different accentuated by the genetic
changes in the newly modified children. Perhaps as a legacy, Mrs. Hillman
would be the first and only woman President of the United States.
I sat back to take in all the data. As I switched off the monitor
and exited the library, the Newsweek cover I saw when I was ten-years-old
filled my mind. The image stayed there until I fell asleep.
Tuesday, October 10, 2045
I woke up with Steve lying next to me as he had for the last seven
years. He was a great guy and I was lucky to have met him.
I looked at the clock. It was 6:10 a.m. I had appointments starting
at 8:30. Steve had rolled into bed well after midnight, so I tried to
gingerly remove myself from bed while disengaging the alarm that was set
to go off shortly.
As I moved up and out in the darkness, my foot caught the sheet
underneath his leg, waking him up. Steve began to stand up.
"Hallo," Steve said, sleep still in his voice.
I bent over to apply my lips to his forehead.
"Sorry to wake you up," I whispered.
"That's okay," Steve said, "I'm wide awake." His face was covered
with a goofy smile and I couldn't help moving my lips to his. Before I
knew it, he had hopped out of bed.
As Steve and I sat in the kitchen drinking our usual too-strong cup
of coffee, I could sense that he had a question on his mind.
"So, what happened at the Doctor's yesterday?" he asked, keeping his
eyes trained on mine while indulging his caffeine needs.
"Um," I said, sipping from my own cup. I was planning to speak to
Steve in the evening about what happened. This was after I had an
opportunity to digest everything.
"Bryan's fine," I said, stammering. "There's only one thing . . . "
"The Breen test?" asked Steve, not letting my words drop off.
I looked Steve in the eyes. His expression was emotionless. "How'd
you know?" I asked, incredulous.
"You forget," responded Steve, shrugging his shoulders, "I have a
son. Every parent knows what the twelfth to thirteenth months for a boy
means.
"So, what were the test results?"
"Positive on sixteen of the eighteen factors," I spat out. I felt a
weight lift off my shoulders. I needed to talk about this.
Steve nodded his head. "Definitely gay."
"Are you going to administer the therapy?" Steve asked. His pace was
brisk. He was intent on making me deal with the problem. He knew what
questions he was going to ask me. This had been practiced.
"I guess so," I said softly.
We sat quietly until Steve got up to get the coffee pot, refilling
both of our mugs.
"I know how you feel," said Steve, sitting back down. "I had the
same concerns you did." I looked at Steve.
"When Josh was still in his mom's womb, I was there when the doctor
told me that he had tested clear of all the Breen factors," he said. "I
already knew at the time that I was bisexual, with a predominantly
homosexual genetic profile."
"In a way, I was elated," he continued. "After all, I knew that he
would probably be a happier kid if he were straight." Steve paused.
"And?" I said softly, wanting to know more.
"At the same time I felt disconnected," said Steve, working on his
coffee. "At that point I knew that an important part of who I was would
not be passed on to Josh. It hurt."
"You wished he was gay?" I asked.
"Not exactly," said Steve, grasping for words. "I knew that, on one
level, I would never be able to fully relate to my son in his sexuality.
I felt as though I was missing something important."
"Did you miss something?" I asked. Steve was now starting to look a
bit uncomfortable.
"I tried not to," he said. "I made special efforts to interact with
him on that level, working on reaching some sort of understanding."
"It's not really natural, though," I said. "We're changing something
fundamental about a person's make up, what they were born with."
Steve smiled. "Yeah, I've heard that. If nature put some sort of
genetic disposition into you, what are we lowly humans doing interfering
with it?" I nodded my agreement.
"Let me ask you this," he said, sitting up. "Do you do any genetic
therapy in your practice?"
"Some," I shrugged. Most of my work involved surgeries, scalpels and
lasers, but geneticists were in every area of medical practice. "I work
with bone disorders and the prevention of malformations in later life."
"Are you wrong to screw with nature's choice of these genes?" said
Steve, his eyebrows raised.
"No, absolutely not," I said. "These patients either have genes that
don't function or are overly aggressive in some instances." I was getting
the point.
"So, nature isn't perfect," said Steve.
"But there's nothing 'wrong' with being gay," I said.
"Of course not," responded Steve. "But it is something that is
capable of being changed."
"Do you regret being gay?" I asked.
"No," responded Steve. "I am who I am. I have to accept that."
"Do we lose something by changing the genes?" I asked. "Could there
be some sort of 'master plan' that says we need people with gay sexual
orientations?" Steve's expression turned to puzzlement.
"The answer to that is 'I don't know,'" said Steve, taking a long sip
on his coffee. "It's quite possible that if Michelangelo had been
straight, we wouldn't have the Sistine Chapel."
"Exactly," I said, throwing up my arms. "Look at how much we might
have lost if his parents switched his orientation."
Steve looked straight at me, his eyebrow raised. "And how would
Michelangelo's parents have known about the Sistine Chapel?" I couldn't
answer.
"Besides," continued Steve, "the thought of parents being prohibited
from interfering with some sort of unknown 'master plan' that forces their
kids to be gay smells like eugenics to me."
"Would you have changed Joshua's orientation if he had been positive
on the Breen test?"
Steve did not hesitate. "Yes."
I sat quietly for a while, working on my coffee.
"Things have changed," I said quietly.
"Very much so," responded Steve, his voice above a whisper. "The
clubs on Halstead are closing. There are no more young guys to keep the
places moving." I knew this. Although our trips to the area were
infrequent, I knew that Chicago's traditional gay center was losing
ground, dying. There were virtually no gay guys less than thirty anymore.
"Life for kids is completely different now," I said, thinking about
my research of the prior night.
"You can say that again," Steve said. "Do you remember when I
mentioned the email I got last spring about Josh being disciplined for
screwing around in gym?"
"Last Spring," I nodded. Josh had been in his freshman year.
"He was in swim class at the time," Steve continued. "He had shoved
another boy into the pool and got caught by the gym teacher."
"Okay," I said. I knew that there was some sort of incident in the
spring term, but I had never discussed the details with Steve.
"You know the boys all swim nude now, don't you?" asked Steve. I
nodded quickly and shifted uncomfortably in my chair. This was something
I was aware of but had avoided thinking about. Nude swimming in gym class
was something that had stopped during the last century, but had started up
again in the last fifteen to twenty years or so. For boys that is.
Schools were having problems getting girls to wear modest tank suits even
in an all-female environment.
"Anyway, the teacher makes Josh bend over in front of everyone in the
class and grab his ankles," continued Steve, "and then he administers five
paddle whacks to his rear end."
"Good Lord!" I exclaimed, feeling a shudder pass through me. When I
was in high school, the teachers could never even touch a kid, let alone
hit one with a paddle. And the kid was naked at the time. I felt sweat
forming on my brow and my breath growing shorter. This was hitting too
close to home.
"The strangest part was Josh's reaction," continued Steve, apparently
oblivious to my discomfort. "He was embarrassed by the spanking, but he
wasn't concerned at all by the nudity. He even told me that it was his
favorite class."
My mind was spinning trying to take in this story. I mentally
pictured myself in Josh's position and it made the pit of my stomach ache.
"He was completely okay with what happened," said Steve. "He said
'Dad, it was just a bunch of guys screwing around and having a hell of a
good time.'"
Just a bunch of guys, I thought. I felt a sharp pang of sadness, of
loss.
I looked up at the clock to see that it was already 7:15 a.m. Evelyn
was getting up. At 7:30 a.m., I went in to wake up Bryan. I dressed him
and brought him to his nanny for breakfast. I kissed him goodbye and
headed to the office.
During work, I kept thinking about Josh getting spanked at the pool.
And that Newsweek cover. I distracted myself with work as much as
possible, but I knew there was something there. I knew I would have to
think this through.
Wednesday, October 11, 2045
Taking my parents to the airport, I just couldn't bring myself to
talk about Bryan's situation. Part of it was that I knew what they were
going to say. My parents were rather strict Catholics. They would not
want a gay grandson.
I took care of my parents' needs, made sure that they were
comfortable, and always called home twice a week. Deep down, I worried
that it was guilt more than anything else. I'd just spent eight hours in
surgery working on a difficult double hip replacement and I was not
looking forward to this trip.
As I sat there during the excessively long trip, I wondered how I was
ever conceived of the two people next to me. I always believed I was a
smart person, at least in terms of intellect. Hell, I had made it through
medical school with honors. By any objective measurement I was a bright
guy.
My mother was not very bright. I could remember from a very early
age being smarter than her in many respects. The "little things" tipped
me off, like how I could remember a person's name or more quickly add and
subtract numbers than her.
In hindsight, I often didn't mind my mother's tendency to be
overprotective. In fact, I used this to my advantage on many an occasion
to get what I wanted. One of the particular areas I was persuasive about
was the matter of food. I was a fat kid. I never had a problem talking
Mom into that extra piece of pie or bottle of pop.
My Dad was from the old school. His father had died when he was
quite young. I don't know if that had anything to do with his emotional
disconnection, but I can honestly say that I can never remember him
hugging or kissing me.
My Dad also had peculiar notions about what it meant to be involved
in my life. When I was eight, I joined the Cub Scouts. Within about a
month of my joining, my Dad had returned from some sort of parents'
meeting and was suddenly the Cubmaster. A few months after that, I was
working on a project and I asked him to help me. He said no. Dad told me
that, as Cubmaster, it would be unfair to the other boys for me to get any
sort of "special help" from him. I never asked again.
I knew from my reading that prior to the advent of genetic research,
many had attributed homosexuality to the presence of an overprotective
mother and an emotionally distant father. What was wrong about the
research was that they were looking at the effect and not a cause. My
mind was not hard-wired to be a "boy" and my interactions with them
reflected their response to someone not completely male in attitudes or
conduct.
When we finally arrived at the terminal, I had to let a sigh of
relief loose. After getting a wheelchair for Dad and checking in their
luggage, we headed off to the departure gate.
After reaching the gate, my mother turned the conversation around to
Bryan and how I should be handling him.
"Michael, you really should consider getting Bryan into some sort of
preschool program," said Mom.
"I am Mom," I responded. "I think in a couple of years, probably."
"A lot of the good ones make you apply years ahead of time," she
continued. "Those spaces fill up really quickly."
"Are you going to put him into Cub Scouts?" asked Dad, speaking for
the first time. I looked at him directly in the eyes.
I flinched a bit. It was one of those odd coincidences, I suppose,
but you always wonder whether or not you betrayed your thoughts somehow.
"One day at a time," I said in response. Dad nodded.
"Well, I know you always had fun with it," said Dad.
I gripped my armrest tightly. I really wanted to say something, but
looking at the old guy sitting in the wheelchair, I couldn't bring myself
to do it. Maybe twenty years ago, but not now.
A boarding call was announced over the loudspeakers. Mom and I got
up and, as usual, she gave me a long hug. Dad just sort of sat there. An
attendant came by to assist with boarding Dad on the plane.
As we discussed last minute details, I saw Dad reach into his pocket
and pull out his wallet. "I want to give you the name of my new
cardiologist, in case you want to talk to him," he said, pulling out a
business card.
As I stood there watching him shuffle through his wallet, I noticed
my picture on the top flyleaf. It was my medical school graduation photo.
I never knew he even had my photo.
I accepted the card politely. I could feel my chest tighten up.
Dad put his hand over mine and patted lightly, "you be a good dad for
Bryan, okay?"
"I'll try Dad," I said softly.
As they moved onto the plane, I waved goodbye. I wondered if I would
ever see them again. But even if I didn't, at least I knew he cared about
me.
"I love you too, Dad," I whispered as they left.
As soon as I arrived back at home, I knew where I was heading. I
had been thinking about it all the way home from the airport. Bryan was
asleep and Evelyn reported that he was doing well.
I entered the bedroom's walk-in closet where the boxes were stored.
I was a pack rat. Behind the clinic's billing records of ten years ago, I
found what I wanted. I opened one of the boxes and dug through until I
pulled a yellowed magazine that hadn't seen light for many years.
The cover was still the same. The same double helix was present with
the iconography. This was the same Newsweek magazine cover dated March 8,
2010 I had seen stored in the library database. Of all the things I had
ever read, this slight magazine was the most memorable. It told me who I
was, at a time when I was most desperate to know. I started at the first
page of the article, "Homosexuality and Genetics."
I remembered the night I had read it. It must have been three or
four in the morning. I was still in the Cub Scouts. The evening before I
had gone to a swim class that the Scouts were sponsoring. It was the
third week and I remembered that I would never go back there again.
The swims were held at a local high school, the same one that I would
attend a few years later. The boys' locker room was set up like most
others, lockers first, a set of sinks, urinals and stalls and a shower
area. Beyond that was the pool. The shower was gang style -- completely
open.
Prior to this time I had done a lot of swimming, mostly at a park in
my grandparents' neighborhood. They had a municipal pool there, so I was
no rookie when it came to swimming.
In my first week in the Cub Scout program I took some sort of
qualifying test and was placed in the advanced class. Only I and one
other guy in my pack were in this group. The others in advanced, about
ten or so kids, were Boy Scout Tenderfoots and these guys were eleven or
twelve. I was quite proud of myself.
I had a problem, though. I didn't like being naked in front of other
guys. I knew my problem didn't start with this program though. I also
knew at the time that I was "different." I had heard the word gay, but I
didn't associate it with me.
In hindsight, some of my concern had probably been due to my weight.
I just looked awful naked. I also felt my endowment was small, but my
large size hid that I was probably average in that area. I also
remembered another kid in the same class who was by far fatter than me.
He never seemed to have a problem walking around nude.
I realized later that the primary reason for my fear was in a sense
built into me. I was gay. Even at that age, I would view male nudity
from a sexual perspective that would have been absent had I been straight.
Of course, this being a Cub Scout event, my Dad was there the first
night, but not after that. I didn't talk to him much that first night. I
know I told him about getting into the advanced class. I have no
recollection of his response.
There was one adult "coach" there who I believe was also a gym
teacher there. He had a high school student assisting him who actually
went in the pool. The Coach stayed dressed.
I noticed the high school student the first week. Dark hair on his
head, great looking and, what fascinated me most, was that he had a patch
of black pubic hair. My eyes were fixed on that hair. Although I had
seen my Dad naked and a couple of other guys, I had never seen anything
like him. In hindsight, I know I had a crush on him.
The first two weeks, I managed to get into the pool without stripping
down in the shower. I brought the bar of soap in there and made sure I
scrubbed myself well underneath my suit. I understood that they wanted to
make sure that you were clean down there before you went into the pool. I
thought I had done a pretty good job.
The third night was the last time I'd be able to get away with that.
It started out regularly enough. I went into the shower with my bar
of soap and eventually started to clean under my suit. Then I heard him.
"Take your suit off," said the teen, in a really loud voice. He was
standing right next to me. He was naked.
I froze. I didn't know what to do. I think I tried to explain what
I was doing was fine, but he wouldn't let me. It seemed that the dozen or
so other boy's eyes were fixed on me.
Emotion took control and I started crying. He persisted. I slowly
removed my suit and, after he watched me soap and rinse. I kept crying
all during this time.
"You can put your suit back on," the teen said. I pulled it up
quickly and left the shower and went into the pool area.
After that, the teen seemed to go out of his way to be nice to me.
He probably knew that I was affected. He knew I was just a little kid.
I didn't respond to his attentions. That night, the teacher made the
decision that my swimming was not progressing and he put me in the basic
class. I had flunked out.
I stopped going to swim class after that night.
Later that night, I had locked myself in the bathroom, where I
discovered the Newsweek sitting there waiting to be read. As I went
through it, and its descriptions of what gay people were supposed to be
like, I realized that they were talking about me. The worst trauma in my
young life was combined with the utter clarity of realizing something so
important about me.
I would never go back to that locker room again. Starting High
School in the same building, I dreaded the thought of going back there.
I took a deep breath. I had never really dealt with what happened
back in the locker room in such a direct manner. Before medical school, I
set myself on a rather rigorous diet, changed my eating habits and began
taking exercise seriously. I lost a considerable amount of weight and
managed to keep most of it off for more than twenty years. My locker room
phobias were diminished after that. The shift in my attitude was also due
in large part to being in medical school and subsequently performing
surgical duties at various hospitals. Locker rooms were a part of the
job. My desire to practice medicine conquered the fear.
Control. That's what I took away from that experience in the shower.
From thereafter, my attitudes toward others changed. I would deal with
people in a businesslike fashion. I never cried publically after that. I
kept control over my emotions.
Control. It was a very logical plan of attack. I wasn't comfortable
getting close to other guys, but they all could count on me to do a
particular job or to take charge of a project. But I kept them at arms
length, then and now.
I held up my hand and clenched my fist. I knew what my genetic
profile was like. I was not effeminate at all and people on first
impression assumed I was straight. I tested positive for the
"self-sufficiency" virus in the q28 region of my X chromosome. This would
make me "temperamentally independent, accustomed to going their own way,
making decisions and taking action on their own." The opposite was the
"joiner" gene that prompted personalities that ached to get along. Either
way, I was gay.
As I looked at my hand afresh, I knew if I had possessed the joiner
gene when I was ten, I would have not had the same adverse reaction. It
would have been different. The gay guys with the joiner gene tended to
get too comfortable in an all-male locker room. It was hard to figure out
which would have been worse.
I knew from his profile that Bryan, like me, had the self-sufficiency
gene. Unlike me, his conduct would be highly effeminate.
I put the Newsweek back in the box and idly went through the rest of
the contents. I noticed a yellowed piece of paper and pulled it out.
"Merit Star for Scout Activities," it said on the top. In the center was
emblazoned "Overnight Camp-Out."
I remembered this. In October of 2010, months after the incident in
the shower, I had gone on a camp out with part of my Den. Two of the
fathers of the other kids had taken ten of us up to some park in southern
Wisconsin for an overnight trip. It was my first and only camping trip.
When we arrived, we ate lunch, cold sandwiches and, new to me, cold
pork and beans. After gulping down the first few spoonfuls, I acquired a
taste for it.
The rest of the afternoon we played football. Not sissy touch or
flag football, but tackle. There was no equipment of any sort. I
remembered feeling glad my mother wasn't there.
Since I was the oldest and fattest kid on the team, I found that my
weight could be used to my advantage. The other kids regularly handed the
ball off to me and I would plow my way through to a touchdown. I even got
a nickname. One of the dads called me "the bull" and the others picked up
on it.
That night we managed to get a fire going and ate hot dogs that had
been roasted over the fire. I think I had about four of them; playing
football had made me hungry. The dads slept in a well furnished and
heated camper trailer. They left the boys to sleep on the rather cold
ground inside a tent that everyone helped pitch. The inequity drew a lot
of protests, all to no avail. Laying in our sleeping bags, we spent half
the night talking and laughing amongst ourselves before falling asleep.
The beans we had eaten earlier came back to haunt us.
The next morning there was more eating, a long hike and still more
football. Then we went back home and picked up our certificates a week
later.
"That was a lot of fun," I said aloud as I put the certificate back
where it came from. Fun. Maybe Dad had something there after all.
I just sat there and thought about my experience. I had a great
time that weekend. About two or three of those kids had been in the
shower with me earlier that year, but no one ever said anything. It
didn't seem to matter to anyone.
"We were just a bunch of guys screwing around and having a hell of a
good time," I said, to myself recalling Josh's words.
The other scouting experiences were also mostly positive. I had a
huge trophy in my parents' house, collected after my softball team won the
den championship. I remembered the trips we made to day camps and the
long hikes in the woods that I seemed to crave to this day.
I had to sit back for a moment. I had been letting that one really
horrible memory in scouting prevent me from recalling the better ones.
It was at that point I made my decision.
Thursday, October 12, 2045
Bryan was napping peacefully in his stroller. I just sat there and
stared at him. He had so much promise, so much ahead of him.
The weather outside was surprisingly warm for a Chicago fall. It
must have been in the upper fifties. I adjusted the blanket around Bryan
to keep him warm and sat back on the park bench. I glanced up at my
watch, only 5:50 p.m. It would be light out for at least a few more
minutes. A slight breeze was kicking around the autumn leaves.
The community park was well designed and I had spent many a weekend
afternoon admiring the location. Circular , the surrounding buildings
resembled a small town from the past century. It was only the presence of
modern vehicles and traffic control devices that reminded me that I was
living in the middle of the twenty-first century.
Buildings were located all along the circumference of the park.
Halloween decorations were on all the buildings; pumpkins, corn stalks and
all the traditional items were laid out nicely. The local high school,
the shopping mall and residences around the square looked appropriately
autumnal. Around the circle, a few pedestrians walked around, some
shopping and others just admiring the weather. Most had finished working
by now and would be returning home to their families.
Bryan woke up suddenly, a little startled. I picked him up and held
him in my lap. He babbled a bit and played with my tie.
I opened his coat and checked underneath his left arm. Removing the
dressing, I noted that the small incision seemed to be holding. I knew it
would be, but the doctor in me just had to check. The cut was so small it
was hard to distinguish in the late afternoon light.
Underneath the incision was a small microchip that was creating and
releasing hormonal medication and altered genetic patches in sub-viral
sized packets. The incision would heal quickly. The microchip, composed
of biodegradable substances, would dissolve by the time Bryan was five.
Its work would be completed. After that, nothing in Bryan's physiology
would ever betray that he had ever had the surgery.
After buttoning him up again, I turned to Bryan and started talking,
baby talk at first. After he settled down with a smile on his face,
placed him on my lap so he could enjoy the view as well. Placing a
pacifier in his mouth, he eagerly bit down, his back teeth not yet fully
emerged.
"You know, little guy, your Uncle Mike has a very tough job," I said
to him. "Not only do I have to be your dad, but I have to be your mom
too. That's not going to be easy."
"I promise you this, though," I said, "I will always be there for you
no matter what, to make sure you are protected from all the nasty stuff in
this world and, when you don't do what you're supposed to, I'll have a
paddle waiting for your rear end." I bounced him a little on my knee.
"Because that's my job."
Bryan gurgled a bit and I wiped his face. A wind was whipping up and
I knew we would have to go in shortly. But there was so much more that I
had to say.
"This is a whole new world you're going to be growing up in," I
continued. "You'll have a lot more things to play with than I did, but
there will be a lot more rules too."
I paused, trying to explain something in a way I was uncomfortable
doing. From my heart.
"Bryan, your uncle can be an idiot sometimes," I said. "When I first
heard about your problem, I looked into all the research and history and I
tried to come up with a solution. Because your uncle is a logical guy," I
continued. "But some questions can't be answered with the best research.
The answer was all about feelings."
"That was tough." Bryan fidgeted and I put him down to let him walk
around.
I looked over to the high school. Walking over to the gym entrance
was a man with two boys who must have been about ten and twelve. The man
was carrying a satchel and he had his arm around the younger boy's
shoulders. The swimming pool at the high school offered open swims during
the evening and tonight was for fathers and sons. Of course, being "just
guys" in the pool, I knew the satchel the guy was carrying wouldn't be
holding any swimsuits.
I picked up Bryan and pointed him to where the guy and his two kids
were walking into the gym. "See them," I said, "in a couple of years
that's going to be you and I. I already talked with your Uncle Steve and
he and Josh are going with us."
I lowered Bryan so that he was facing me. "Of course, before we get
to go into the big boys' pool, I need to have you stop that nasty habit
you have of pooping in your pants." I rolled him back and forth and we
laughed together.
I propped Bryan back up on my knee and held him close. "Your Uncle
Mike, when he was a kid, would have been scared to death to go into that
place," I said, combing his hair with my fingers. "He didn't like for
anyone to see him naked."
As we sat there together, I saw that there were other boys and their
fathers arriving at the pool. All were heading in eagerly, some of the
kids not waiting to get inside to start roughhousing.
There was something so right about these boys and their fathers
walking in together. It was so honest and real. It was something I could
never hope to articulate. Just guys being together, sons silently
learning from fathers about what it meant to be a man, done in an
environment that did not allow for secrets or for those bonds to be
compromised.
Throughout my life, I had made the best of my situation and I not
only survived, I thrived. But the sacrifices I had to make made me less
than complete. I knew though that the toddler perched on my lap had the
answer to my loneliness, the inability I had to connect to men as men, and
not as lovers. I would have to forge this with Bryan and to teach him
about this brave new world he was entering.
I looked down at Bryan. He yawned. Time to head home soon.
"Uncle Mike just wants you to know that he loves you very much," I
said softly. He looked back up at me and I caught my own reflection in
his eyes.
As I looked into his eyes, I pictured his future. I saw Bryan at his
first day at school, driving the teacher to distraction. I saw him
becoming a cub scout like I was, going camping and fishing. And tackle
football too. When he went into the locker room, he would not be afraid
like I was, not caring at all that he was naked.
I saw him going out on his first date, with the young lady's mother
in tow. I watched as he experienced his first kiss, stolen behind the
bleachers after scoring the winning touchdown.
I imagined his wedding day as his beautiful bride walked down the
aisle to greet him. There were visions of his children being born and
being held by their father for the first time. I saw the pride he would
take in protecting and providing for his family's needs. And Bryan's
children would grow up, and bring their own children to see him.
Procreation. This was something denied to me by orientation. I
could have used artificial means or adoption, but it was not the same.
The sex acts that I performed as a gay man were often satisfying, but when
they were over, that was all. There was only one sexual act that could
create something so wonderful as the child sitting on my lap. There was
only one act that had significance beyond the moment. I now understood
this.
I saw in Bryan's eyes a world of limitless possibilities. I saw how
a part of him would, hopefully, go forward into the future. I saw how
much I had missed and what I would never have.
Bryan looked up at me and put his hand to my face, brushing the tears
that were now flowing freely.
"I know I made the right choice," I whispered as I hugged him close
to me.
------------------------------------------------------
Dr. Greiner returned quite satisfied to his office at the upper
floor of the Anthropology department. The session with Dr. Willis had
gone quite well and he felt assured that his tenure recommendation was
certain. Willis' instructions on follow-up required Greiner to make a
call. Sitting at his desk, he activated the vid monitor.
After plugging in the correct access numbers, a pretty young lady
appeared on the screen.
"Good afternoon," said the receptionist, a smile lighting her face.
"Good afternoon, miss," said Greiner, bowing his head politely, "I
would like to speak to Dr. Ricelli."
"Yes, sir" said the nurse, "and may I ask who is calling?"
"Dr. Greiner from Loyola," he responded.
"One moment, sir," said the nurse. The screen displayed a hold
pattern with soft music in the background. Greiner used the holding time
to sort through his interview forms. Within a few minutes, a
distinguished older man dressed in a surgical gown and seated behind an
impressive desk soon appeared.
"Hi, Dan," said the older man.
"Hi Bryan," responded Dan, a smile on his face.
"I take it that everything well with Willis," said Bryan.
"Sure did," responded Dan, "he wants to meet with you."
"Tell him I will certainly try to fit him into my schedule,"
responded the older man.
"How about Friday afternoon?" asked Dan.
Bryan shook his head. "I have a complicated heart-lung transplant
going all day."
"Saturday?" asked Dan.
"Lunch is open, noon at the Palm Club as usual," said Bryan, punching
up his calendar. "What's going to be the topic of conversation?"
"Nothing in particular," responded Dan. "Mostly, I think he wants to
get some feeling from you about your uncle."
"Dan," said Bryan, his face lighting up, "there's nothing more I like
to hear than someone wanting to know about my Uncle Mike."
Dan smiled back. "He was a very special man."
Bryan closed his eyes and nodded. "He was the greatest man I ever
knew."
"Just one thing," said Bryan.
"What's that?" asked Dan.
"I have got to get out of there no later than 2:30," said Bryan. "I
have a standing appointment on Saturday afternoons to take my two
grandsons swimming at the 'Y.'"
END