• ⇤
• ⇽
• ≡
• ⇾
• ⇥

how old are you, boy?

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

We have this game. I ask The Boy how old he is, and he says, "one". Now I have to correct him.

Because today he turned two! Mari, my dear wife, had a cake made that we could share after dinner (which was a rushed affair because I was off to some networking event). The cake, like the dinner she'd prepared the night before, was delicious (I'm really a very lucky man and I know it .. clap your hands), and in fact prompted the first bout of real selfishness I've ever seen in Kenny.

I'd dared to slice myself a small second piece before running out the door, and The Boy angrily pointed out that it was his cake. He said, "Happy to you Ken-kun の" meaning, "It's my cake because people have been singing 'Happy birthday to you' all day."

Kinda funny. The cake was really superb, boy, if you're reading this in the future (and I expect you will). Much like your grandma used to make. Ah, the old country.

"Happy birthday, boyo!! You're now two."