A few weeks ago, Good Man cut his hand. He asked if we had some gauze, but before I could answer he said, “I will use this!” He reached into a kitchen drawer for a flour sack cloth and starting humming a song. “I am like MacGyver!” he said happily.
“Is that what that song is?”
Good Man’s jaw dropped. “You! You—you must know MacGyver! It is the greatest show ever! He makes all of these gadgets! It’s like Inspector Gadget and C.S.I. put together!”
Good Man adores the word “gadget.” He uses it far more than an average American would.
“I watched Inspector Gadget,” I said. I started singing. “Doo doo doo doo doo, Inspector Gadget…”
“I know, I did too, and in Korea the man who was MacGyver’s voice was also the Inspector’s voice, but you must watch MacGyver! It is—I can’t believe you never watched it! Are you American or am I?”
Before I could decide what my television viewing habits might say about my nationality, Good Man ran into the computer room to find MacGyver online. He started watching an episode (with a really racist anti-Asian opening scene).
After a few minutes he turned around and said, very passionately, “It’s like…I am almost going to cry. My heart,” his hand fluttered up to his chest, “is beating again.”