won't you play with me?
the journal of Michael Werneburg
twenty-eight years and a million words
Tokyo, 2010.01.11
The Boy's taken to asking us to play with him. But he doesn't do it straight.
He does it through a sort of emotional blackmail. He sits down on the floor, making himself look small, and looks up at Mari or me with wide eyes and says "abobo" (his pronunciation of the Japanese word "asobu", or "play"). He'll pat the floor next to him, or hold up his empty hands in a kind of begging fashion. Like he's all alone in the world and needs some company.
Who can resist!
I worry vaguely that between his knack for manipulation and the constant attention he gets due to his looks, he's going to be quite the um, playboy. I'm going to have to keep him away from the bad influence of some of his "uncles".