Shades of Michael Jackson

I’m in love with a fourteen-year-old. Which is to say-- by way of disclaimer-- that I am only fascinated by one, and not that I am utterly subject to the compulsions that currently define Michael Jackson and R. Kelly in the public eye.

Actually, there are two very cute fourteen-year-olds in my Japanese language class (Watakushi no Nihongo no kurasu ni totemo kawaii juuyonsai no onna no ko ga imasu.*) and they have done much to add to my interest in the class itself. My own questionable adult status forces me to interact with people closer to my chronological age. I thus find it refreshing to be the butt of a fourteen-year-old’s in-class jokes.

Asahiko-chan pinches hard, and that’s how you tell that she’s accepted your presence in her personal universe as unthreatening. She also calls you kuya-- or ate depending on your gender-- and asks you for grammatical help when sensei isn’t looking. Asahiko’s father is Japanese; apparently, he is flying his family to Japan. The Japanese language class is just some way of giving Asahiko something to do for the summer while her visa gets processed. I haven’t asked her if she really wants to go: while I have given some thought to the eventual difficulties of her adjustment to life in Japan, the question is moot.

I am resolved to give her something before she goes to Japan. She likes Card Captor Sakura, so maybe a drawing will do nicely.

I am interested in Arjane-chan primarily because of her eyes and the structure of her face. I like her nose, even if I normally find noses like hers protruding a little too far. I also like her spunk (she wants to work abroad, and is quite willing to forgo boys to do so) though I privately wish she would stay in the country to help fix the mess her parents’ parents’ generation helped make of it. Her drive and her willingness to undergo the inconvenience of night classes put me to shame. I hope with all my heart that she slips under the collective radar of every screwed-up schoolboy looking for love or a good lay. She doesn’t need the kind of crap I used to put girls through in my younger days.

I’ve never been a father; with my way of screwing up important deals, I wouldn’t want to be one. But I’ve always known that in a perfect world, I’d be honored to realize the desire to raise children-- daughters, preferably. I’m also cursed with having a teaching aptitude and absolutely no credentials. My inner child longs for playmates old and new. As much as I love kids my age, my heart will always hold a special place for children.