Just a short while ago, someone knocked on my door - my wife asked if I was going to ignore the bible thumpers at the door. I did not hear 'em, so I decided to open the door - prepared for the practiced lesson by the rookies that use my household, me, as a battlefield training ground. I studied the belief systems of the world for four years and to this day, I still do - I know more than they know about their own beliefs.
I walked to the door, wondering why I did not hear the call to battle, but expectantly moved to take my position on the field of battle. I opened the door and much to my surprise AND disappointment, the believers were not to be found and waiting in their stead was a short, dark-skinned, older gentleman. He looked up and immediately asked for my forgiveness for interrupting on this fine day.
He immediately told me that he was from Guatemala and he was traveling to Fresno - for obvious reasons that did not need to be stated. Really, who in the hell travels to Fresno? He must be a migrant worker. An illegal. Undocumented Worker. As you may know from me, I prefer Illegal.
He asked for help so that he could continue to travel north and he wondered if we could provide him such.
I asked him to take a seat on the porch and to wait - "I'll see what we can do", I told him in spanish. I moved to the kitchen and my wonderful Margarita was already moving. It was not a question of being able to provide him some help, it would be a question of much we could.
We quickly packed him a few drinks, some vegetables, some comfort food and a few dollars for his perilous journey. Both my wife and I walked out to the porch, she carried the bag of edibles and I carried the drinks. Upon seeing us emerge from our home, he politely, but swiftly made for the bag of food! Smart man, I must say! He readily accepted it and thanked us.
I asked his name. Samuel. I asked the name of the city and he told me. He thanked me again and I wished him well, he thanked us and I reached out to shake his hand. He took it and did not smile, but he looked into my eyes and expressed his gratitude for the little that we had given him.
He turned on his heal and he made his way north, to Fresno. I imagine that he would travel a ways first, to a open space or alley to eat some of that which we had given him. Fresno is, at least, 200 miles away, if not more. He won't make it today and he won't make it on the pittance that we shared with him.
Since I can remember, living with my grandmother as I did for a good deal of my young life, I remember many souls knocking on our door and asking for help. My grandmother was retired and she would tell them that she did not have money, but that she would cook them a meal - usually a burrito or egg sandwich. It happened so often, that I believed and to this day, still do, that amongst those traveling north - they knew of a kindred spirit that lived on Hay Street, in that big, white house. They knew that if nothing else, you could find a hot meal, a reminder of when life was simpler and of being back home, where you could visit with family and friends and find a hot meal.
The house was white, the biggest one on the block and they always came. They continued to come after she moved and we lived there. I wonder if they still go that house? No matter, it happens here and the house we live in, was also white and I wonder if indeed, they come to my house, our house for the same.
I am against illegal immigration for the obvious reasons and not because they take jobs from my fellow citizens, but because I am against hypocrisy. Americans bitch and bitch about the cost of food and don't realize that if these people did not do these jobs, their food would be that much more expensive. Illegal immigration is bad because business is the culprit here. Not the illegal. The illegal goes to Fresno to work because industry pays them. Industry pays the immigrant because they have to compete with others in an economy that is squeezing them from unfair trade practices from around the world.
Pay a worker a wage, decent hours and compete. America can not compete with places that pays workers a dollar a day and where they work 14 to 16 hours a day. That is unfair trade.
No matter. If you like you cheap food, stop your bitching and leave the immigrant alone. You still wouldn't do the job that Samuel does. You couldn't.
A human being came to my door and asked me for help so that he could, in essence, work for me . . . and you.
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