WELLESLEY LOWER HILLS, Mass. When Rob and Deena Parkinson first moved to this western suburb of Boston known for its top-ranked schools, they assumed they’d fit right in with other, similarly-successful couples. “We golf and ski, and we’re both not unattractive,” Rob says, lapsing into litotes in order to avoid the sort of “humble-bragging” that is frowned upon here until one has been a resident for at least a decade. “Instead, while we aren’t quite pariahs, we’re basically invisible.”
The Parkinsons’ problem is that they are childless in a community where one’s social circle is determined by the friends one’s children make in school, sports and extracurricular activities. “I see them coming and going,” says the Parkinsons’ neighbor Ben Veliste, “but unless my kids know their kids, they’re dead to me.”
The young couple’s isolation worsened until the President of the local Newcomers Club told Deena about Kidz 4 Rent, a leasing program that puts cyborg children into the homes of people like them for a weekend or longer, enabling childless couples to blend in and meet others in the congenial atmosphere of youth sports.
So lifelike!
Last Saturday morning Rob and Deena were at the counter of US Rents-It, a retail establishment where, surrounded by snow-blowers, tents and other equipment available to let, they flipped through a catalog trying to decide among the various boy and girl options the company had to offer.
“I think we’d like a boy and a girl,” Rob told Mike Motta, the owner, as he sipped at his first Starbucks coffee of the day.
“Okay, boys are in this blue binder, girls are in the pink,” Motta said as he took a phone call from a man who needed a sump pump to handle a basement leak.
“Are they alphabetized?” Deena asked.
“Use the tabs on the side,” Rob replied, pointing to the plastic dividers in the pink binder.
“Oh, I see,” Deena said, then turned to the “C” section. “Let’s see, Caitlin, Chloe–here we go, here’s a Courtney.” The pert brunette with a plaid, preppy headband put a finger to her lips as she surveyed the vital statistics of a model available for $29.95 a day, with a two-day minimum except for the slow mid-week days, when she is available for a 7:30 a.m. “early bird special” pick-up if dropped off by 5:15 p.m.
“I like this Evan–here,” Rob says as he points at a thoughtful little boy model whose bio reads “Evan is loaded with a higher-than-average intelligence chip capable of performing at a 120 I.Q./12-year-old level. He is competent although not proficient at youth sports, and will accept your encouragement–as well as your criticism!–gracefully.”
Go, Evan!
“Okay by me,” Deena says, as she struggles to choose between two Courtney models; one is a cheerful, outgoing athlete who struggles with homework, the other is bright but introverted, and will sometimes decline to participate in fun family activities like board games. “I guess I’ll go with the second one, #1012,” she says as Motta ends his phone call.
“I’m going with Evan . . . let’s see, I can barely read the model number,” Rob says as he takes off his glasses. “He’s . . . 2132.”
“Okay, I’ll bring ’em around to the front,” Motta says as he rings up the Parkinsons’ purchase, which they put on their American Express card. “We get points we can use for travel and stuff,” Deena says. “Maybe we’ll take some kids for a week over school vacation.”
Motta wheels the cyborgs to a garage door and activates their personality chips, and the young couple drives off for a happy family weekend together.
“Let’s see, Evan–you’ve got a Pee-Wee hockey game at 11:30,” Deena says as she looks down at the activity sheets for their two slightly-used children. “And Courtney, you have soccer practice at 2.”
“Can we get ice cream?” Evan asks in a rote voice that nonetheless is able to convey a credible whiny tone.
“I don’t want you to throw up on the ice,” his “father” says with the stern voice of one who thinks that youth sports help build character.
“Aw, dad!”
“That’s final!” Rob says, then gives Deena a sidewise smile. “This is fun!” he says.
“It’s really too bad,” she says as she puts on some lipstick using the sun visor mirror. “We would have made good parents.”
You can’t tell the real high-fives from the fake one!
“I don’t want to go to soccer,” Courtney says, as she turns to stare glumly out her window to express her preference for a quiet day at home reading books about horses.
“You know you need to be well-rounded if you’re going to get into a good college,” Deena says. “If you don’t have a lot of activities on your application they’ll assume you’re going to go lesbian, get a tattoo, write depressing poetry and commit suicide.”
“Which is a HUGE black mark on your record,” Rob adds with as much parental concern as he can manage given his lack of experience.
“I WANT ICE CREAM!” Evan screams when his “parents” fail to give him the same level of attention they’ve expended on his sister.
The car stops at a red light and Rob looks at Deena with a mixture of resignation and exasperation. “Do you think he’d be okay with just a little frozen yogurt?” Deena asks, pleading her son’s case.
Frozen yogurt: Almost as good.
“I guess,” Rob says. “Although he’s never going to learn his lesson if you spoil him.”
“If he gets his way, I’m not going to soccer!” Courtney screams as tears begin to flow down her cheeks. “I don’t want to spend all day standing around in the cold!”
The light turns to green, but rather than stop at Green Mountain Creamery for a mid-morning treat as requested, Rob makes an illegal U-turn and heads back in the direction the family came.
“Where are you going?” Deena asks.
“I was just wondering,” Rob replies, “if we get these things back to the rental place before noon maybe they’ll give us the deposit back.”