Refugees in America

I usually try to refrain from political rhetoric- not because I don't have a strong view of the current political landscape but I've found that in my daily working environment and social settings there are generally two topics avoided- religion and politics.

However, I can't escape the general feeling of dread that I have right now. Everywhere I turn, the conversation is surrounding immigration.

I live in Austin and over the last several years, I have not-so-mildly joked about the detention center in Hutto- in that I've been constantly reminding individuals that we are housing women and children in our concentration camps. (That's what they are- even if we don't torture, starve and force labor.) The facility opened in 2006 and can house about 500 people. Currently, there are 300 residents and more than half are children. And now more are popping up all over the country.

I've read and heard countless stories of why these children leave their home countries or why their parents send them with human traffickers. I feel heartbroken for those children who leave what little family they have as to not be a financial burden, in hopes that they can make it to the famed promised-land and be able to provide for their families. But it's not so promised anymore. What was the land of opportunity for immigrants since the colonization of this country has turned into a boarded up house and a barbed wired fence.

I acknowledge that our border towns are filled with violence spewing from drug and human trafficking. Gangs have taken over control of once safe and life-filled towns. And these are the visions we fill our head with when we thinks of illegal immigration.

Over the last several weeks, I've seen town, cities and counties refusing to allow admittance of refugees. That's what I call them. Refugees. I've seen entities collecting people and herding them like cattle into fenced in areas.

I've seen this done in the name of security. In 2013, the US sent $23B in foreign aid to fund humanitarian assistance and international development. In addition, they have spent roughly $14B in foreign military assistance.

But providing humanitarian assistance to those entering our borders is a burden we aren't willing to provide.

I actually heard someone today saying that the children entering our borders carry diseases and are dirty. One said that they are all gang members. Many leave escaping violence, poverty, and human trafficking into slave and sex trades. All we see is those we consider lesser than ourselves. The same as we see our own homeless and poor. We don't need more. Where is the empathy that we have for the rest of the world- as long as it's not at our backdoor- it's okay to help.

I'm appalled by my fellow Americans. I'm appalled by my neighbors. I'm appalled by my fellow humans. That anyone would think it's okay to throw children in camps resembling animal shelters is horrific.

And yes, I realize that not all seeking refuge are children- but does it matter? We are all human.

On a bright Sunday day

Funerals are so difficult. Home burials are the worst!It is really a tragedy when you start to think about what happened. The feelings of grief and loss are overwhelming.

Angela - I think was struck by the horror more than me. It was all I could do to console her. 

It happened while Angela was out in the blistering heat. The sun was saturating the earth with its long rays. The rain had finally vanished from view. But with the suns rays-came the sweltering heat.  The humidity was unbearable. To be outside was a cry for something dreadful to occur. And it did.

Angela was overcome with heat--blinded by the sweat pouring from her brow as she undertook the arduous task of yard work. She had just finished edging the entire yard and weed eating several miles of weeds – now overgrown from the abundance of rain. She began to work on trimming up trees which had turned into wild shrubbery. And then it happened. I heard a cry – a cry for help. She had committed one of the worst sins man can commit. Murder!

It was fresh from the package. The blade on the long handled pruning clippers was new and sharp-ready for the endeavor of cutting, slashing and destroying.  They had found their way into the hands of a fatigued person- Angela. She was so immersed in the task. She could finally see the shrub morphing into a tree- when everything came to an abrupt end.

One small life snuffed out- before it’s time.  The acicular edge of the clippers found their way around the small neck of a little gecko. His body lay lifeless on the ground. Angela’s cries of shear terror and angst echoed against the house and resonated in the silence that fell.

There just was no consoling her. I had her identify the location of the listless body. I asked Angela to retrieve a small gardening shovel as I examined the situation further. His little body lay in two pieces still connected by a small piece of flesh. His poor little head dangling.  She came back with the shovel. I edged him in carefully. 

Angela set off to scout a location for us to bury our once little yard tenant. She took off the backyard.  There- along the fence she found a nice location- full of shade and a perfect view of both the backyard and the neighboring park.  We dug a small hole and lay his body to rest. With much care we place rocks atop his little grave to forever mark his spot.

 

Angela plans on immortalizing him with a plant.

The Chicken or the Egg?

There are comes a point in everyone's lives when time's old questions and debates become relevant. For centuries biblical historians and theorists have debated evolution versus creation. As a practicing Catholic, I have found that my own beliefs sometimes part from the faith I was born into and maintained as an adult. You can sort of say that I have picked out the parts of Catholicism that suit my needs and comfort me in my day to day life. (Don't tell my priest!) I often believe God had many trials and errors in creating a very non perfect man. Ergo evolution.

I pride myself on weekends in which I can refrain from philosophical, political and/or any general thought. The idea of not having to make any sort of decision other than where to seek sustenance and adult beverages for two to three days is liberating. But even that much decision making is usually left to my better yet sometimes feeble half. We both are highly functioning professionals and really the only excuse I can think of for our lameness is that by the weekend we are depleted of all intelligence.

While visiting one of our favorite local breakfast hot spots, (a small obscure house in a residential neighborhood bordering downtown) we were thrust into a debate that neither of us were prepared to consider. Our day started like any other weekend. We slept until our fur baby was awake enough to clearly state that he was starving to death. At which point, we realized our stomachs were eating us from the inside out. Our only real option was to leave the confines of our home and welcome the outside world into ours. It all started out innocently enough.

Going out to eat when you are famished is not the best decision as portion amounts are relative.

We each ordered two breakfast tacos each. I ordered a chorizo, egg, and potato taco along with a bean, cheese, and bacon taco. Mmm! Delicious! She ordered two egg, potato, bacon, and cheese tacos. What the waitress failed to mention was the innards of the breakfast tacos were an overabundance of yumminess spilling out of a warm tortilla. In order to devour this overindulgence of breakfast goodness, there would have to be a fork phase to eat the overflow, followed by a two hand assisted taco eating frenzy.

Quickly enough after starting my second taco, the chorizo, egg and potato, I began to realize that while my eyes told me to keep eating my stomach was quickly begging me to stop. I could see the same look upon her face. She was filling up fast. Were we determined enough to leave no morsel behind or fly our white flags of defeat. My flag started up my mental flag pole. She decided that the last bite in her mouth was the last as well. Neither of us could have ever prepared for what would happen next. I look of pain, anguish, and disgust suddenly made an appearance on her face. Oh, no! I feared a volcanic eruption at my breakfast table. I quickly passed my table napkin to her. Spit out your food! Her face grew grim followed by mild relief. Swallow.

 

I began to question her out of grave concern. Was she sick? Then it happened. That weekend feebleness had shown through her. Her last bite had what she called too much egg. She swore that she might have bit down on an egg shell as well. While she was thinking of the egg shell she began to wonder if it had been an egg shell at all- could it have been a baby chick? Her stomach began to wrench in disgust and sadness for the baby chick. She had a moment when reality once appeared in her head and she was able to swallow. I doubt that there was ever a baby chick in her mouth other than in scramble egg form but there possibly might have been a small piece of an egg shell in her taco. In our case, the egg definitely came before the chick.

Wasted days and wasted nights

After a long days' work- I was out to run my errands and head for home.

I had a long list of general toiletry items and decided to visit my local corner Walgreens. I picked up hair color to rid myself of premature gray. I surveyed facial cleansers and a multitude of other beauty products. After an inspection of an arm full of items, I decided I had everything I needed and didn't need.

I proceeded to the front for checkout. A man stood in front of me- trying to pay. He was a young man, perhaps in his mid to late twenties. His card declined the debit transaction.  He was dressed in a t-shirt that had seen better days. It was probably once white and now a dull shade of cream. He wore a faded red and white checked flannel shirt open over it. His jeans were faded and tatters. His shoes were in need of repair or just a trash can. He attempted the transaction again. Declined

He apologized to the store clerk and said he just had to leave then. She looked over at me stated that she needed to void the transaction before I could be checked-out. She reached out of his bag and pulled out a Happy Birthday Mom card. My heart instantly sank. Had I known...I would have helped him out.

'Now, Lewis... as he came to be known was a fuckup yet once again. See, Lewis had been in and out of trouble most of his adult life. He had an older sister and brother that were perfect children. They had gone to college, married, had children and always cleaned-up his messes. However recently, Lewis had woken up in a shady motel with a strange IV needle in his arm and a girl he didn’t know and thought... what the fuck am I doing? He had gone to the local free clinic and checked himself in for rehab. He’d only been out about a week from rehab and had already found a job - working as a janitor at the local middle school. 

He hadn’t really told his family that he was trying to get his life in order. That conversation had happened one too many times. He was hoping they would see once everything was in order.

Now, today was his mom’s birthday. So many times he’d forgotten but not this time. Only, this time his efforts had been foiled. He knew what thoughts would be emanating from his brother and sister. Another failure by Lewis, another time he’d forgotten the importance of the day.
After dinner- would be strong enough to resist the depression that would set in- would he be strong enough to resist getting high?'