*Your Yusuke*

Long ago, and in the far off land of Utah, I had a special friend. He was big, strong, and played with me all the time. He let me put barrettes in his hair, to the point where there were more barrettes than hair. He took my sister and me to the movies. His name was Yusuke. He was going to college in Utah, but spent the occasional weekend with my family. We met him years before, in Japan. He was the greatest. I loved playing games, and attacking him, and annoying him to no end, I’m sure. There was one activity however, that I loved especially. You see, I was convinced that I could teach him English, never mind that he already spoke it. I decided, probably as an impetuous seven year old, that we’d have story time, so he could practice. I knew that I was doing him a huge favor, making him read to me book after picture book. He was the willing (or at least he appeared to be willing) pupil. Now here I am in a foreign country, going to high school. I would love to be someone’s Yusuke.
Of all the people I’ve met that don’t speak English, it’s the children who are willing to put the effort into understanding, and helping me understand. The majority of adults pass me over to a translator, or worse, find me a seat and a drink, then ignore me. Only the children have patience with my slow, sorry excuse for a language. Patience has never been a virtue associated with kids, but somehow these youngsters are curious enough that they can put up with my constantly shrugging shoulders and raised eyebrows. I think I’m their new toy. A week or two ago, one of my young friends brought out a Furbie. This thing was about as old as her, and though it didn’t work, she still liked it. The enticing aspect of Furbies is that they learn. If you tell it to them enough, they’ll learn to say your name, or any swear word you’d like. I am these kids’ Furbie. I eat on command, play on command, sing on command, and learn on command. I just wish they’d command me to read.
I’ve been told to read aloud in Spanish over and over. Trying that alone in my bedroom at eleven at night is a little disconcerting. I want someone to read to. I want a crazy little girl or boy to teach me Spanish, and how to read, and maybe even play soccer. For the record, this is a big deal, because I’m terrible at sports. I’m in a bit of a rut at the moment. My language has improved tremendously. It’s not so much that I can speak more, just that I understand at least twice as much as I used to. My problem is that I can’t speak more. Well, that’s a lie. But I can’t speak as much as I think I would be able to if I were to practice more. I am floja (lazy) though, and after an exhausting day at school, it’s all I can do to write a blog or journal entry, grab a bite to eat, then crash on my bed in front of the TV. Even worse, it’s English TV.
So the question of the night: can I be your Yusuke? Can I read stories to you? Will you correct my pronunciation and phrasing? Please be patient with my slow speed. Let me read aloud, because my Spanish is terrible, and I need all the help I can get. Sometimes I can’t even try. Take today, for instance. In the store, my mother asked me something. I don’t know what, and I told her so. She said ‘’Why don’t you understand?’’ I answered, ‘’Because I don’t speak Spanish.’’ Not the best of answers, but I was tired, had just had a terrible day, and was looking forward to a night of this: staying home, because my lack of understanding cost me an evening out. With this in mind, give me a chance! Talk to me. Slowly and precisely. Let me read. Maybe even let me participate in class. I honestly wouldn’t mind a little tinsey bit of homework. When it comes down to it, I’m here to learn. It’s a pain in the butt for you to speak slowly and simply enough for me to understand, but believe me, it’s even worse for me. Let me be your Yusuke. If you’re young, this will be easy. If you’re over the age of eleven, I pity you.