Every one thinks that I cannot read or write very well yet. Mommy and Daddy know—but they don’t tell people. They say they like the shock of knowing that their son can do better than their stuck-up rich kids. I nod because whatever Mommy and Daddy say is right. But they said that we will be all right. Are they right?
I miss Josie. I know she picks on me and stuff, but she’s a cool big sis. She taught me stuff that Daddy taught her. She says I am going to have to protect myself. I will be a hot commodity—whatever that means. Why? I ask. Because you’re the son of Heero Yuy…and Heero Yuy is dangerous.
Daddy is dangerous? Well, if he is, then why is he my daddy?
Mommy made me learn my full name when I was two. Jason Edward Yuy, she said over and over. Repeat, sweetie. Repeat after me. Write it down sweetie. Now use your left hand. And then hers. Daniella Elizabeth Yuy. And then Josie’s. Josephine Midori Yuy. I remember having them written by age three—chicken scratch. My handwriting has refined so much, as Mommy says. She’s proud of me, her little baby son. Her little soldier. Her eyes, the color of the purple crayon, lights up when she says that. My eyes are the color of the blue one—somewhat but not really.
Then Daddy breaks in and says that I shall never be a soldier—no one in his family will ever have to fight again.
So why does Josie teach me how to fight? For fun? Or because I will have to fight even though Daddy said I wouldn’t?
I am confused. Maybe Ed knows why. He seems to know everything else.