3-2-1 contact

After nearly a year of funny looks from them, I finally made contact with the gang of kids that haunts my apartment complex. They are a nice healthy batch of children that seem to range in age from 5 to 9. I assume that they play well with each other, as I hardly ever hear crying or angry shouting.

When I came home from work this afternoon, the gang (only 4 members today) was filing out of my neighbor’s doorway. I smiled, and the two most vocal members said, “hello.” I said, “hello.” They said, “hello.” Then I said, “hello.” Then they said, “hello.” Then I threw in a “konnichiwa.”

That’s what blew the door wide open.

Despite my language handicap I learned that Mayu’s older sister couldn’t join us because she is very sick, Nobutaka will be a big brother soon because his mother is pregnant, Reo’s father is part Italian, and that Ryoto—although the smallest—is definitely the leader of the group.

The kids in turn learned what their names look like in roman lettering, that I am an American with relatively big hands, that I live alone, and that the reason that they cannot come into my apartment no matter how much they beg is because I think it’s messy.

I hope that our relationship continues to grow and that they’ll someday let me play tag with them, show them how to paint or draw, and finally make use of this jump rope that my predecessor so graciously left me free-of-charge.

he's got a gun!

I just heard on the news a few minutes ago, that President Bush has in his possession the pistol that Saddam Hussein had on his person when he was aquired by the US military.

I don't think it's unreasonable of me to easily visualize Mr. Bush and Mr. Cheney galloping around the White House playing an 'adult' version of Cowboys and Indians.