The 40th Year: Dads by Design (Part 1)

Nestled between two lakes, Madison stood as a bastion of normalcy and order in a region otherwise dominated by overdeveloped urban sprawl. Unlike the towering chaos of Minneapolis, the relentless pace of Chicago, and or the cloying density of Milwaukee, Madison maintained a veneer of serenity, aided by installing MuniciPOL checkpoints at all major roadways and ports of entry. With MuniciPOL restricting access and tracking residents, the city avoided suffering the same fate as its midwestern neighbors. With neatly arranged buildings, lush parks, and tree-lined streets, Madison boasted controlled harmony under the ever-watchful eye of the state. Life was good in Madison, but it came at a cost.  

Digital billboards displayed advertisements and state-mandated messages promoting unity and conformity. Citizens moved with a purpose, with clearly defined roles and meticulously planned futures. Madison’s infrastructure, from transport to housing to immaculate public spaces, reflected the state’s commitment to an orderly society.  

A cornerstone of Madison’s success was the Development and Assimilation Directive. This state program targeted men approaching their 40th birthdays who had yet to conform to societal expectations. The Directive identified these individuals and the character flaws that prevented them from full conformity and then transformed them, with each new man redesigned to fit specific societal needs. The program ensured that every citizen contributed to the city’s orderly and efficient functioning. This rigorous enforcement of conformity made Madison a great place to live, the rare flourishing city amidst a sea of Midwestern decay.  

Julian Harper’s loft was a chaotic haven of creativity amid this structured environment. The high ceilings and large windows let in plenty of light, illuminating the canvases spattered with vivid colors that leaned against every brick wall. Sculptures in various stages of completion, each depicting an idealized male form, cluttered the space. Julian, with his tousled hair and paint-stained clothes, moved through the warehouse-sized room with an air of distracted genius.  

Julian’s appearance was as unkempt as his surroundings. He wore paint-stained jeans that had seen better days, a faded T-shirt with painterly rectangular blocks of primary colors, and a pair of well-worn sneakers. His fingers were often stained with paint or clay, remnants of whichever artistic endeavor most recently captured his attention. A leather bracelet, worn and frayed and a relic of his bohemian lifestyle, adorned his wrist.  

Julian’s disorganized nature extended beyond his appearance to his daily life. Bills piled up in a corner, unopened and forgotten. His schedule was chaotic, dictated by bursts of inspiration rather than any semblance of routine or order. He was known to miss appointments and deadlines, his mind too occupied with creative pursuits to bother with the mundane responsibilities of life.  

He was deeply engrossed in his latest creation, a canvas taller than he was with blazes of orange and purple converging in the center when a loud knock echoed through the loft. Furrowing his brow, he wiped his hands on his jeans and opened the door to find a uniformed courier holding a sealed envelope.  

“Julian Harper?” the courier asked.  

“That’s me,” Julian replied, taking the envelope.  

The courier grunted and tapped his tablet. The device beeped its acknowledgment, and the courier turned back down the hall without another word. Julian tore the envelope open, his heart sinking as he read the contents.  

Compulsory Transformation Notice, it began, detailing his mandatory attendance at an upcoming VR workshop designed to recondition him into a practical, reliable handyman. Julian’s grip tightened on the paper, his mind racing with frustration and fear. He glanced around his artist’s studio, seeing the disarray as if for the first time. The state had identified his disorganization and unreliability as flaws to be corrected.  

“They think they can fix me,” Julian muttered, returning his gaze to the notice. The thought of becoming radically different from his true self filled him with dread. How could he be expected to trade his world of vibrant creativity for one of monotony and predictability?  

Julian’s art was more than just a passion; it was his identity. The idea of spending his days fixing broken appliances or building furniture felt like a death sentence to his spirit. Yet, the state’s mandate was clear and non-negotiable. His 40th birthday was fast approaching, and with it, the forced transformation would turn his chaotic genius into the antithesis of who he was.  

Across town, Leonard “Leo” Reed sat in his office at the university, surrounded by towering bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes. The soft glow of old-style incandescent lamps cast a warm light over his cluttered desk. He was a tall, slender man with sharp features and a slightly stooped posture from years of leaning over books. His dark hair was meticulously combed, though it had started to thin in his late thirties. He wore round glasses that slightly magnified his thoughtful brown eyes.  

Leo’s attire was as precise as his thoughts. At the risk of exemplifying the professor stereotype, he dressed in well-tailored tweed jackets with elbow patches and preferred button-down shirts in muted tones. His trousers were always neatly pressed, and he wore polished leather shoes. As usual, a silk tie completed his ensemble today, its pattern subtle and understated.  

Leo’s life was one of meticulous routine and intellectual pursuit. With little need for social interaction outside his small group of tight-knit friends, he sought solace in the quiet confines of his office, surrounded by books that provided him with endless knowledge and comfort. Leo’s world was one where ideas and theories reigned supreme, physical activity was a trivial pursuit, and socializing was an unnecessary distraction.  

Just an hour ago, a group of colleagues had dropped by to invite Leo to a casual gathering at a nearby cafe. “Come on, Leo,” one of them urged. “It’ll be fun. A chance to unwind and mingle a bit.”  

Leo hesitated, glancing at the stack of books on his desk. “I appreciate the offer, but I have some papers to grade,” he replied politely but firmly.  

Another colleague insisted, “Just for an hour.”  

“Surely, you can spare an hour,” yet a third said.  

Leo adjusted his glasses, which was a subtle sign of his discomfort. “I really can’t. Perhaps another time.”  

His colleagues exchanged glances, clearly disappointed but not surprised. Leo’s tendency to shun social interaction had become a well-known trait. Left alone in his office, he immersed himself in a manuscript, scribbling notes in the margins with a fountain pen, when a sharp rap at the door startled him. “Come in,” Leo called.  

A campus assistant entered, holding a government-marked envelope. “Professor Reed, this just arrived for you.”  

Leo took the envelope, frowning when he recognized the seal. As his milestone 40th birthday approached, he expected the letter would come. Still, nothing prepared him for the feelings of uncertainty and trepidation that came with holding it in his hands. He opened it and read the first line aloud.  

“Compulsory Transformation Notice.” Leo was to undergo VR immersion therapy to be transformed into a sports coach. His stomach churned at the thought of his scholarly world threatened by a role that felt utterly foreign. His intellectual lifestyle had made him socially awkward and physically inactive, traits that the state had evidently deemed flaws in need of correction. He struggled to accept the idea of becoming someone who thrived on physical exertion and team sports. The notice in his hands felt like a betrayal, a cruel twist of fate.