"Science Fiction" means—to us—everything found in the science fiction section of a bookstore, or at a science fiction convention, or amongst the winners of the Hugo awards given by the World Science Fiction Society. This includes the genres of science fiction (or sci-fi), fantasy, slipstream, alternative history, and even stories with lighter speculative elements. We hope you enjoy the broad range that SF has to offer.
Koji A. Dae is a queer American living long term in Bulgaria. She has work available through Short Edition, Alban Press, Tales from the Moonlit Path, and Luna Station Quarterly. When not writing, she cares for her two children, dances the blues, and hunts for second hand deals at local thrift stores. You can find out more about her on kojiadae.ink/
Behind the observation glass, James pinches Tanya. Her tender skin turns bright red. It'll turn into yet another bruise.
James watches his sister cry, I watch James, and the doctor watches me.
"Isn't it risky?" I don't take my eyes off James. With a son like him, constant close supervision becomes habit.
"A clean wipe is usually successful in kids. They haven't had time to form strong habits, and we can always revert to his current scan if problems arise." The doctor's low voice is meant to be reassuring, but it cracks with a hint of anticipation. I don't blame him. It's a new procedure. Doctors must geek out over this kind of thing.
Tanya wails as a nurse pulls James away. I can't tell if she's in pain or upset that she's being separated from her big brother. Bruises, cuts, even broken bones: no matter what he does to her, she adores him.
"He'll keep his memories?"
"Only the personality changes," the doctor assures me. His leg jiggles like the tail of an excited puppy.
Grinning, James kicks the nurse. She curses under her breath and casts a too-familiar glare at the observation window. He laughs--that beautiful, pure laugh only children have.
I want to love that laughter.
"Do it."
It's an outpatient procedure and the effects are immediate. When we return from the hospital James picks up his toys, plays carefully with Tanya, and eats his peas without complaining. He tickles his sister until they collapse in giggles. His laughter still makes me wince.
At night, he falls asleep without struggle--the little boy any parent would beg for. I kiss his angelic forehead, creep into my bed, and cradle the hard drive of my real son.
The End
This story was first published on Tuesday, January 14th, 2020
Author Comments
When my five-year-old son's neurologist suggested putting him on diazepam for his night terrors, I was afraid his personality would change. This story was born out of that fear. Protecting a child's blossoming personality while keeping them physically safe is something no one can fully prepare for until they face these choices, and I wanted to showcase that difficulty.
- Koji A. Dae
Become a Member!
We hope you're enjoying Adjustment Parenting by Koji A. Dae.
Please support Daily Science Fiction by becoming a member.
Daily Science Fiction does not have a paywall, but we do have expenses—more than 95% of which are direct payments to authors for their stories. With your $15 membership, less than 6 cents per story, we can continue to provide genre fiction every weekday by email and on the website to thousands of readers for many years to come. You may also choose to support us via patreon.
Rate This Story
Please click to rate this story from 1(ho-hum) to 7(excellent!):
