He speaks little English. “Yes” and “no” are in his vocabulary, but he spits them out timidly, as if he doesn’t want me to hear. My Korean is . . . rusty. It makes for lousy conversation.

At dinner, he shovels food into his mouth. He reminds me of a sadder version of Eeyore. He refuses to make eye contact. He stares blankly when he answers questions. I’ve discovered that he hates onions, but loves ice cream. I think we have more in common than he realizes.

I ask him if he wants to see a movie. He politely declines. I ask why. He says he likes Korean action movies, but not American ones. I ask why. He mumbles something in Korean. I still wonder.

He gets along better with my dad. My dad makes him laugh and tells me that my cousin loves it here. Really? This kid loves America? I trust my dad, but I don’t believe it.

My cousin found a sanctuary in the computer. He reads Korean comics. I’m next door. I hear the clicking of the mouse scroll wheel. He zips through the comics. And every couple minutes, I hear him burst out in laughter. Life from the otherwise lifeless boy, sparked by a pile of electronics.

Two days remain until I leave, but for now, I’m taking my cousin out for ice cream.

It’s no Graeter’s, but it’s still tasty. Also good is TCBY’s $0.99 waffle cone on Wednesdays. No shortage of tasty ice cream treats here