'The Problem Child' by Neil James Hudson

Mr and Mrs Norman spent a month trying to agree on what their child should be like.  Both were agreed that he should be highly intelligent of course, and it didn't take too long to decide on blue eyes, fair hair and white skin.  It was only when they got on to the subject of sex that the problems started.  Mrs Norman thought that a nice girl would be just the thing to impress the Pembertons, but Mr Norman thought that girls were soft.  It nearly caused the end of their marriage until they went to court.

   "No doubt about it," said the Judge.  "Girls wet the bed more.  Go for a boy."

   So Mrs Norman, who, after all, would have to change the sheets, agreed with her husband, and later that month they filled in the forms, joined the local childbirth club, and had some sex.

   The doctors did a professional job and so, thanks to the wonders of modern science, Mr and Mrs Norman had a white, fair haired blue eyed boy with an IQ of 200.  They weren't too sure how a baby could have an IQ of 200 but the doctors assured them that he did, so it must have been true.

   They called him Gerald and they loved him.

   However there was a limit to everything and five years later they sent him back.  "I don't wanna go to the doctors," said Gerald, but Mr Norman hit him till he changed his mind.  After all, it had never warped his own personality.

   "He's too fat," they told the doctors.

   "Can't he go on a diet?" asked the doctors, but they could tell from the expressions on the Normans' faces that this wasn't on.  So the Normans paid, and the doctors operated, and Gerald went home as good as new.  All the kids in the playground called him "skinny" and beat him up, but what the hell, bruises could always be surgically removed.

   There were still problems, though.

   For instance, when the nurse came round to check he was masturbating properly.  "What a delightful child," she said.  "He was reading A Brief History of Time."

   Mr Norman said nothing at the time, but that evening he confronted Gerald.  "What are you reading that sort of thing for?  You should be playing with your Action Man with all the other boys."

   "I don't like Action Man," said Gerald.

   "You'll play with your Action Man if I have to force you," said Mr Norman.  "I didn't raise you to be gay."  That hadn't been fashionable for ages.

   But next time it was a textbook on Calculus of Variations in Lagrangian Systems.  They took him to the doctors again.

   The doctors checked their files.  "But you did specifically request an above average IQ," they said.

   "He was supposed to impress people with the books he's read," said Mr Norman.  "He's not supposed to actually read them.  I didn't want him to be a smartarse."

   So the Normans paid, and the doctors operated, and Gerald came home a moron.  He played with his Action Man, and indeed with all the kids in the playground, who no longer bullied him.

   There were still problems, though.

   Gerald was, after all, a growing lad, and when his parents felt it was time, he reached puberty.  Whereupon he instantly met a girl called Rochelle, fell in love, and just to prove it, got her pregnant.  The foetus was aborted, but being legally responsible for all Gerald's debts, the Normans had to pay for it, and they weren't happy.

   "Why did you do it?" asked Mr Norman.

   "Well, I sort of like, love her, don't I?" replied Gerald.

   There was only one thing for it.  They took him back to the doctors.  This time Gerald hit back, but Mr Norman didn't mind:  after all, a good thrashing every now and then did you a world of good.

   The doctors were adamant.  "We can't suppress his basic sex drives," they said.  "He wouldn't be human if he didn't get people pregnant."

   "I don't want him to be human though," said Mr Norman.  "I want him to be a girl."

   So the Normans paid, and the doctors operated, and when Gerald woke up she found she was called Geraldine, and all the kids in the playground kept accidentally putting their hands in her blouse.

   There were still problems, though.

   For example, Geraldine still fancied Rochelle.

   As she explained to her father:  "there is a certain essence that permeates all human existence" (they'd changed her intelligence again) "an essence which is the healer of all evils:  love."  (They hadn't changed it by much, obviously.)

   Mr Norman was enraged.  If she still fancied girls, couldn't she still get them pregnant?  (Or was that toilet seats?)

   Geraldine did not want to go back to the doctors.  "Father, it's not right that you interfere with my identity," she pointed out.  "If you cannot leave it to me, I might as well not exist."

   "You ungrateful bitch," said Mr Norman, and broke her arm.  The doctors would later repair it free of charge, seeing as they were such good customers.

   They weren't too sure about the next operation, though.  "Tricky," they said.  "And costly."

   But the Normans paid, and the doctors operated, though not on Geraldine.  Suffice it to say, Rochelle was most surprised to find she was now called Richard.  His parents complained, but the Normans had paid, not them.

   There were always problems.

   The doctors had to operate on Geraldine's acne.  They had to operate to make her a good athlete, then reverse it when the Pembertons said that kind of thing was "démodé".  They had to operate to make her prefer boy bands to Brahms.  They had to operate to stop her masturbating, an unseemly habit in girls.  In the end they had to change her back to a boy for tax reasons.

   Gerald did not like any of this.

   Shortly before he was eighteen, he announced his intention to move out.  "You want to what?" said Mr Norman.  "For nearly eighteen years your mother and I have tried to give you a good life.  We made you intelligent, we made you look right...we just wanted you to have a better chance than we did.  What are you going to do on your own?"

   "I shall be independent, father," said Gerald. "Now you can no longer force these operations on me, I shall build up an identity of my own, rather than one that has been forced upon me.  I shall--ow!"

   It was an interesting point, though.  Once Gerald was eighteen, Mr Norman would no longer be legally responsible for him.  How could he be sure he would come to no harm?

   He had an idea.

   The doctors were reluctant.  "It's never been done before," they said.  "Anyway, it's unethical."

   "That's okay," said Mr Norman.  "We can afford that."

   So the Normans paid, and the doctors operated, and it all turned out okay.  The doctors managed to charge twice as much as usual, which pleased them.  The Normans got their son back in the form of a two month old baby, which pleased them.  But most importantly, the little whinger was too young to complain about it, which pleased everybody.