Almost as soon as the boy had come out of the womb, Kai had wanted to crack open his son’s head and tip all his knowledge in. Why should the child have to suffer through organic chemistry, Greek mythology, Spanish syntax? He watched his son struggle to pinch slices of banana between his thumb and forefinger, the lift up to his mouth equally precarious. Even the smallest acquisition of information seemed onerous. His wife had repeated "wave bye bye, Baby" for weeks, flapping his pudgy hand with the same optimism. The kid still stared blankly when Kai left the room.
There were species that passed along genetic memory—bird song, an aversion to the smell of cherries. Kai knew that by the time he equipped his son with whatever wisdom he’d cobbled together, the world would have changed. Kai could only prepare his son for the world right now. Not the one he’d have to live in.
And in that world, where would Kai be? His gonads no longer necessary for the biodiversity project, his ideas gathering mildew. He stared at his offspring, now happily gumming banana, and felt the sting of obsolescence with each chew.
(written by Claire Tacon, read by Chioke I'Anson)
Subscribe to us on iTunes or wherever else you get your audio fix.