Walt and Vi

There was a fellow named Walt. Walt spent most of his younger years in and around Muscatine. Came WWII, and Walt's country called. Walt answered. He fought in the European Theater. At one point he was injured badly enough that he was not expected to survive. He did survive, and returned home after the war.

There was a woman named Violet. During WWII Vi worked at the former Servus Rubber in Rock Island. That company was geared up for war production. "They also serve who only stand and wait" said Milton. Vi waited but she did a lot more than just stand.

After the War Walt met Vi. They married, then they had children. And children  And children. Fourteen in all - three sons, eleven daughters. One of those sons dies in infancy. The other two also served when their country called them to duty in Vietnam - Joe in the USMC, Donald in the Army. Seems that words like honor and duty burned bright in Walt and Vi's home.

One of Walt and Vi's daughters grew up and married me. Cindy and I will celebrate our 35th anniversary in June. We had five kids - four daughters - and twelve grandkids. When Walt and Vi's kids have a family reunion it's quite a sight. "Who are you? And whose are you?!"

Mortality caught up with Walt and Vi, as it does, eventually, to all of us. Walt's been gone since 1988, and Vi since 2007. Today Cindy and I placed flowers on their graves. Those graves are in one of those places where the ghosts are never far away - The National Cemetery on Arsenal Island in Rock Island. It's where Cindy and I expect to be buried, since I am an honorably discharged veteran of the US Navy. I'm very proud of that.

So we placed the flowers on the grave. We stood a few moments and said a prayer. I made the sign of the cross, and we left in silence. To say much of anything would have seemed just wrong.

One weird visual juxtaposition occurred as we were leaving. The National Cemetery is very near the Confederate Cemetery. During the Civil War there was a prison camp for confederate POW's on Arsenal Island. Just across the street is the Rock Island Arsenal Golf Course. So, on this most hallowed of days for Americans, in this most hallowed of places, as we left we saw golf carts chugging around.

Walt and Vi, thanks for your service, both at home and in Europe. Thanks for raising such an interesting family filled with such honorable people - sons and daughters who have the integrity to live to the best lights they know. Thanks for raising my best friend, my spouse, my lover who has given me 35 wonderful years.

Thank you!

Service

BP would be too easy pickins. I will pick on them, surely. I am wondering where the "Drill Baby Drill" chorus is now.

But not today.

One of my high school classmates posted a status mentioning his visit to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington - the Wall. I have never been to the Wall. The Wall is one of those places where those who gave all are memorialized in a settng in which you can feel the ghosts. Hawaii has more than one such - The USS Arizona monument, the Punchbowl.

I have visited one such place. It was a June Wednesday morning when I stopped at the Gettysburg battlefield. I don't even know if they have a visitors' center there - I stopped on a road that runs by one edge of the field. I saw no monuments, no memorials. Just - the field. Even so, the ghosts were there.

I live near another such: the National Cemetery on the Rock Island Arsenal.

"Happy Memorial Day" is a horribly inappropriate greeting. Maybe, "Thankful Memorial Day." It can't be happy when we're reminded that freedom isn't free. It has cost us dearly.

So, from me to those ghosts: I've always been OK with words. I don't have any words that even come close to saying "Thank you" strongly enough.

But, as inadequate as it is: Thank you. And may God be good to you.

Anesthesia

Dysthymia has been my particular issue. If you Google dysthymia you'll be directed to a lot of web sites dealing with depression. Dysthymia is related to depression. The mood swings of depression are more pronounced than those of dysthymia, but dysthymia's milder form of depression is constant enough to be thought of as a personality trait. I rarely have the crash-into-a-black-hole feeling of a true depressive, although I have known it and there's nothing worse than that complete hopelessness - but it's also uncommon for me to be feeling really good about things. I have a very hard time just having fun. Letting loose is not something I do easily and a good belly laugh from me is rare. My mood is just sub - whatever.

And, pullleeeze - there's no point in asking what we're depressed about. If you're depressed about something, then it isn't depression. It's just sadness. Depression, dysthymia are all the more torturous because there's no aim to it. I wish I could point to a reason. I can't. Those who've been there know what I'm talking about.

Thus the genesis of addictions. It begins with the genetic predisposition. The research is clear and compelling - longitudinal studies, separated twin studies - that having an addict in your immediate family line places you at much higher risk of addiction than someone who has no such person in their ancestry. Some have gone so far as to say, "No genetics, no addiction." I don't know that I buy that strong a statement, but it's only because we don't know all of our own genetic makeup. We haven't identified one gene as the cause.

The second precursor is often some form of mental illness, some mood disorder. Dysthymia. Depression. There are a lot of folks among us with some form of social anxiety disorder. There are many, many bipolars among us.

It's really difficult for someone caught up in these disorders to describe their lives to someone who has no idea. So, we find something to soothe the pain.

Booze.

Coke (no, not Coca Cola).

Tobacco (sure helps with that stress, doesn't it? Only, good luck with telling your kids why they shouldn't smoke.)

Exercise. I've said there's no such thing as a good addiction. You can become addicted to a process as well as to a substance. The reason there's no such thing as a good addiction is that the line between habit and addiction is crossed when you are no longer free to choose to do something or not do it, You'll see people, on 35-degree days in a rainy, snowy wind-driven mix, jogging in their Spandex. They're as addicted as any smoker.

For many of us the substance or process of choice served us very well as anesthetic. It numbed the pain. Many of us would say that we don't even like the taste of the stuff. We just wanted relief. The problem was, while it numbed the pain it did nothing to solve the underlying problem. It only made it worse - I, a dysthymic, used alcohol, a depressant, and expected that depressant to help with depression?

Don't expect sense or logic from us.

I don't know if the term is still in common use, but mental health professionals have used the term dual diagnosis to describe this - a person who is an addict and who has some other mental disease. For me, once we identified the underlying disease, I began to be able to address the drinking, too.

And, only at that point was I able to base my faith on something real. More properly, on Someone who became more real to me than I ever was to myself.

For those caught up in this process as well as for the families of such folks, my heart is with you. You may convince yourself you're not worthwhile. You are, most certainly to me. God bless, and please feel free to contact me, if you think it may help.

As always, I'd love to hear from you. Thanks for hanging out with me!

Pentecost reflections

I am most certainly glad that they haven't found out about this one.

The most important date on the Christian calendar is Easter. I think of Easter Sunday in conjunction with Good Friday. Had Jesus died in his sleep at a good old age, there would have been nothing demonstrably salvific about his death. The cross is critical to an understanding of what Jesus did for us. The gospel writers described Jesus' manner of death at great length; they obviously meant to emphasize it. Paul, in his letters, acknowledged the absurdity of the worship of a crucified God - unimaginable to Greeks, Romans, Jews, or anyone else - yet Paul proclaimed "We proclaim Christ crucified."

I do remember a time when Good Friday was a day off for most. Now, it's nothing special. You can have the day off - if you use your floating holiday for it.

And what has Easter become? Absent the event that Easter celebrates, terms like faith, hope,  love take on a very different meaning for me, if they maintain any meaning at all. My faith, my hope, my love, the whole structure of my life and thought process, is centered on Christ crucified, and Christ risen.  But now - it's a day for candies (gee, Easter ranks right up there with St. Valentine's Day, doesn't it?)  It's a day for Easter eggs and organized hunts for them. And please, please, don't anyone mention that there's a religious dimension to all of this. Let's not call it Easter. Let's call it our "Spring Holiday".

When pigs fly, I will.

And about Christmas. It's not about the birth of anyone special. Nope. It's about new razors and luxury cars with great big bows tied on them and pajamas and you name it. So let's don't call it Christmas. Let's call it the Winter Holiday.

Does it feel to you like we are getting squeezed out of the public square? And maybe - just maybe - part of the cause is our own timidity?

A short time ago Francis Cardinal George, Archbishop of Chicago, addressed an audience at Brigham Young University, a Mormon institution. Catholics are not Mormons, and Mormons are not Catholics. There are theological differences that are real. But Cardinal George's address concerned an issue that is common to Catholics, Mormons, and, I would think, the rest of Christendom: our right to have a place and a voice in the public discourse. I found his remarks inspiring, and I was pleased to see the LDS press' favorable coverage.

So, that brings me to today - Pentecost Sunday. The birthday of the Church. The day when the Holy Spirit moved over the disciples. The day when each person in a crowd that was there heard the Good News - each in their own language. (And, please note that this "gift of tongues" was as much about the hearers as it was about the speakers.) From that point, the progress of this faith was an unstoppable force.

This is also one of the major celebrations of Christianity. Thank God that the marketers haven't figured out what to do with this one yet.

Thanks for hanging out for a few! Love your thoughts.

Rambling thoughts from a rambling remembrance of the read

I was always a good reader and, as an adult, I border on the voracious. The subject matter and genre is almost irrelevant (but please don't bother me with romance, western, or any of that Harry Potter or Twilight stuff. "Let's see how many cliches we can get into one page - or one plot!") But, there were those who, with all good intentions, almost turned me off reading.
When I was in 5th grade my teacher noticed that I enjoyed reading stories of the sea. I guess she thought she was doing me a favor when she gave me a copy of Moby Dick. I had no chance then of understanding that this was more than a whopping good whaling tale - although it is all of that. Other meanings completely escaped me, as  - well, gee, it's one of the most difficult, complex reads of western civilization, and I was a FIFTH-GRADER, for crying out loud. But, she did do me a favor, after all. When I was an adult I came back to Moby Dick. I can't say I completely comprehend even yet - but I greatly appreciate the art.

I will be forever thankful for those who, over the years, introduced and reintroduced me to Shakespeare. I am, by dint of personality, more in tune with the tragedies than the comedies. I wasn't introduced to my favorite while in school. King Lear is the darkest of his tragedies. The role of Lear is a role that separates the actors from the hacks. The role of the fool is no easy role, either. That fool is no fool!  

Lear opens with a conversation between the King and his three daughters. Lear has set a competition between his daughters to see which of them can praise him most extravagantly. Two of the daughters rise to the occasion splendidly but the third, Cordelia, is not gifted with skills of flowery speech. She only pledges what a daughter owes her father. Lear misses the significance of this. He splits his kingdom between the two big talkers, who barely wait to leave the room before they plot against him. He exiles Cordelia, who was loyal to him and would remain so to the end.

We were introduced to Thoreau as juniors in high school. I think it's appropriate - this is a writer that should be encountered at some time - but Thoreau is a lot more comprehensible to one who approaches him with some life experience. Thoreau was a great naturalist, and you can read Walden at that level, but that's missing Thoreau's theme. His theme: we are a composite of choices we've made. Some things that we think we simply must have - just can't do without - others manage to do very nicely without. Walden is a meditation on just what life is really about in its essence. We are our choices - we live the way we live, we occupy the house we live in and live in the location we live in and eat as we eat and sleep as we sleep because of choices. How did we ever get by without I-Pads and smart phones? Gotta have 'em - never mind that most of our forebears didn't have electric lights.

I also read newer stuff, but not much newer fiction. Recently I read On the Brink, Henry Paulson's memoir of the financial crisis of the Bush years. A while ago I saw on Facebook someone's status, "OBAMA - One Big-Ass Mistake America." I guess that passed as clever, in a sort of second-grade, prepubescent sort of way. If you read Paulson's book and pay attention to Paulson's encounters with the two candidates, you realize that Obama was no mistake. McCain would have been one big-ass mistake. America.

And a tip of the hat to one of my heroes in the faith. I wasn't a cradle Catholic - I came to Catholicism in adulthood - and when I was considering the change I encountered the writing of Thomas Merton. I won't try to write for him, but my thoughts on faith, on the pure love of God, on war and peace, almost exactly reflect Merton's.

I'd love to see what writers had an influence on you.

Thanks for hanging out for a few!

Looking back

We drank a toast to innocence;

We drank a toast to now

 And tried to reach beyond the emptiness

But neither one knew how. . .

                         -Dan Fogelberg

As I listened to this song today my mind was drawn to a group of people that formed a huge part of my life, the United Township High School Class of 1971. We were a mixed bag, as any other group would be. We had the usual assortment of those who you just knew would be wildly successful. We had those who you knew would get by OK. We had the usual assortment of alcoholics, druggies and other ne'er-do-wells, too.

One top-ten student is now affiliated with the Department of Engineering at an Ivy League university. (You expected?) Another is now a pastor. Two of the bunch went on to become sportswriters - enough to suggest that UTHS had a pretty good English department in those days. There are three attorneys that I know of - maybe more - and we have invaded the executive suites of a local insurance company. We have at least one dentist, although I don't know of any doctors (I don't count chiropractors as doctors.) A president of a tech-oriented company in suburban Chicago is one of ours. One of ours teaches special ed kids. I'm especially proud of him; I have a special needs daughter.

Doubtless the most well-known of our crew was Spike O'Dell, who went into radio. When he retired, it was from the position of host of the morning drive-time show on WGN Radio, Chicago. He retired, I heard, to a place by a golf course in a state that I have sworn to avoid at all costs. Spike, in his early years in radio, also kept a job as a security guard at the Farmall works - just down the street from where I was a security guard at the Deere Plow and Planter Works. I don't think he ever knew that.

Society at large saw a lot of changes starting about the time we graduated. The Quad Cities was no exception. For most of us the life course we expected was something like: graduate. Maybe do a stint in the military. Go to Blackhawk College, pick up some vocational skills. Go to work at Deere - either the Plow and Planter Works or Harvester Works - or maybe IH or Farmall, or maybe Case or Cat. All had large factories around here. Or, you might go to work at the Rock Island Arsenal. Now, Deere's Plow and Planter Works and Harvester Works are much smaller than they were. Case, IH, Farmall and Cat no longer have a presence in the QC. They've been replaced by - gambling boats. In between was a terrible recession in the area for most of the decade of the '80s.

That's progress. Or, should it be, That's progress????

That change is one thing that makes my reflections rather somber. I was, during this period, spending about two-thirds of my life trying to drink and otherwise drop myself into oblivion. I have, since then, hung onto sobriety and worked at building a life that is at least somewhat respectable. I think I came out OK. Maybe barely OK, maybe only OK by the skin of my teeth - but OK. If you'd seen me in about 1985 or so, you'd have not seen any OKness in my future.

Another thing that makes me reflective is a Facebook page: United Township High School Memorial Page. I am thankful to the creator of the page, although it saddens me greatly. One of the things that saddens me isn't specific to the class of '71. It's how many of the UT folks we've lost are younger than the '71 cohort. Many - way too many - were lots younger.

But for '71: I look at a list of those we've lost. There are 25 names. I remember some of them from having participated - not well, but participated - in athletics with them at various times. I remember one who was a lab partner with me. He was a bright kid, and was barely more than a kid when he was killed in a vehicle accident. I remember one who was such a talented basketball player in 7th-9th grades that we just knew he'd go on, get his scholarship, and do well. I did meet him after high school, in the state penitentiary at Joliet. I was guard. He was inmate. Now he's gone. I remember almost everybody on the list.

 People who observe other people's religious behavior have noted that most churches lose a significant number of their people between the ages of about 18 to, maybe, 30. They just drift away. Sometime, about at age 30, they start to return. I've wondered why this happens. I think that, at about 18, the person is convinced they're invulnerable - perfect - all-knowing - and, free from parents. But, sometime or other, in one way or another, life will deal to you something that makes you know how vulnerable you really are, how little you really know, how big the mysteries really are. Birth is one such consideration. Why does one couple have a beautiful, "normal" child, while the next has a special needs child, and yet another, who want a child, can't have any at all? Why is it that the latter couple are wonderful, loving people who would never harm a child in any way, while an abusive family right across the street has seven kids? There's no answer that science can provide.

The existence of radical, personal evil is such a consideration. What would convince a McVeigh, a Bin Laden,  that human life has no value whatsoever? Psychology and sociology have much to say about "how" - but nothing to say about "why?"

And premature, tragic death. We know about the aging process, and science can tell us all about the various disease processes. But we want the "Why?" Why is there anyone from the Class of '71 among the deceased? Why anybody younger, for heaven's sake? Science has nothing to say to this. 

And so we are drawn back to faith, often by crisis. Faith doesn't tell us why either - but it does point us to One who loves all, does have a plan, and who does know the Why. Even if She can't share with us yet.

I'd love your thoughts.

Thanks for hanging out for a few!

Home at The Animal Planet

Zoe is a cat. That doesn't make her unusual at our house. Three of them are here. But Zoe was the first.

Zoe is a beautiful animal - a black and white cat - and she usually doesn't have much of a naughty streak. But she does have an independent spirit. When she was a kitten she took some delight in running into our room before we noticed she was there. She'd streak under the bed and not come out until she was good and ready, thank you. Now she's grown, and can't sneak under the bed as easily. We thought she was broken of the habit UNTIL -

Until the day she decided to make her sneak-and-dash attack on the front door. Someone made the mistake of holding the front door open just a second too long, and  - ZOOM! POOF! She's gone.

Oh, the long faces of Meri and Logan!

We found Zoe later. She was on the roof of the garage across the street. I have no clue how she got there; she's been declawed. She was looking over the edge of the roof: "I don't remember it being this high when I climbed UP here and sure as God made little green apples I'm NOT jumping down!"  Time for me to come to the rescue. We found a chair for me to stand on. I could barely touch the roof, and Zoe wanted none of my rescue offer. Every time she saw my hand come over the edge, she'd peer down at me, and retreat to the peak of the roof. No chance I could grab her there.

Someone thought of a clever stratagem. Let's get her food bowl and bait her with it! That increased her curiosity, but only slightly. She still wasn't ready to trust me enough to get her down.

We finally did get her down. It involved getting the chair out of there. We didn't have a ladder - we're probably lucky we didn't - but my daughter has a pickup truck and a hard cover to the bed of her truck. I stood on the cover and could reach over the edge of the roof. With that, and more baiting with food, and Zoe either tiring of the game or realizing no other form of rescue was coming, Zoe finally decided to let me get her down.

Five minutes later Zoe was asleep on the back of the couch, like nothing at all had ever happened. About two weeks later the scratch marks on my arm were hardly visible. Grunt.

The second of the cats is Smoky. Smoky is jet black, so a black cat crosses my path daily. We didn't buy Smoky at a pet store. It was a January day, rainy-snowy mix, about 35 degrees or so. Midwesterners get the picture quickly. My son-in-law was standing outside the back door when this kitten came to him. This kitten was obviously very young, soaked, cold, and very hungry. He didn't have the heart to leave her like that, so it was off to the vet, and Smoky joined the family.

Smoky is a friendly, well-behaved (no door dashes for her) cat. She demands little. She does like a little petting in the morning - a greeting is always nice. (Zoe may be petted only by her permission. She'll let you know.) She gets along well with the other animals, with any person. I know cats' memories aren't long enough for her to remember what life was like before we welcomed her, but she shows no inclination at all to bite the hand that feeds her. Makes her different from lots of people, doesn't it?

The third cat is Nalla (I promise you, I didn't assign these names). Nalla's a brown cat with golden eyes. She thinks she's a lion and, if you look at her face in just the right way, you can see the family resemblance. Nalla is the most playful of the cats. She doesn't understand why all the critters around her don't flee in terror - "See? Lion here!" as she stretches her paws. Sorry, Nalla! all we see is kitty. We think you're lyin'.

Nalla also came into our home as a stray. It was a late summer-early fall day in the schoolyard where two of the grandkids go to school. Nalla came up to my daughter - very young, very small, very thin, very obviously hungry and castoff. So - PREACHY MOMENT WARNING - if you have a dog or cat and can't handle the puppies or kittens, get your dog or cat fixed. K? Smoky and Nalla would both have had really bad ends. They didn't, but we can't be there for all of the castoffs.

Thanks for hanging out for a few with me!

Moms In My Life

My, oh my, did I ever get lucky. . .

My mom was a Depression-era baby. She was born near Cedar Rapids, and always carried memories with her of all the small towns in the area - of the difficulties her family faced in that era - of her mother's heartbreak at some things that went with the era. Her first job, I think, was a part-time job at a movie theater in Cedar Rapids. For the rest of her life she was interested in the movies. Name most any flick from the '40s on - she'd know who the stars were, what the plot was, what her opinion of it was. (No, I did not inherit this trait. My sister, however, has it in spades.)

I think the thing that she exhibited that really stands out to me, and that I try to carry forward: Maybe you have a problem, some issue. The nature of the issue isn't important. The attitude you bring to that issue is critical. If all you're going to do about the issue is complain about it, you'll spend your life spinning your wheels. Don't even bother with the complaining. What needs to be done is confront, admit - then fix.

Mom (and Dad) smoked like potbellied stoves for years. She confronted - and stopped.

Mom didn't finish school the first time through. It became a problem for her when she wanted to get back into the workforce. She confronted - and graduated. Like parents, like kids: I didn't finish college on the first try, when Dad was paying for it. I thought I had a better idea. Actually, I was a homesick kid in Urbana-Champaign, and I wasn't ready for the place. But, eventually, I did get my BA. When the time for the graduation ceremony  arrived, my wife attended - as did all five of the kids. Confront - solve. Thanks, Mom!

I will be forever grateful to our Mom, and Mothers Day is a bit of a pensive day for me. She passed in September, 1997, and some of my day will be in thinking of her, and in prayers that God will be good to her. She never, ever doubted that. I don't either. I love you, Mom.

Now, my life is full of Moms. I'm thankful to my wife, Cindy. In June we will celebrate our 35th anniversary (Man, that's a lot of garbage to carry out!) We have five kids, four of them daughters. I now know the subject of raising daughters very well, but when we had our first one, this is how much I knew: 0. (I thought I knew lots and lots.) Cindy did have some teaching to do. I wasn't always an easy student. As you may have guessed from previous postings, living with me hasn't always been a day at the beach. If we have raised kids of whom we can be proud, thank you, Cindy! And if we have happy grandkids, thank you for that, also. I love you more than I can say.

I am thankful for my daughters who are Moms - who would do whatever it took to keep those grandkids fed, clothed, housed, safe. Although I'm told that this is a daily occurrence: Daughters remember a line I used on them. Daughters have sworn that they would never ever ever use those lines on their kids. Daughter uses those lines on their kids. Daughters catch themselves halfway through using said phrases and slap themselves in the forehead. (Be honest - it's not just my daughters that do that, is it?) Please believe me: I may have taught you a few things. You have taught me more. I love you, and have loved every minute of the time you've been with me.

Happy Mothers Day to my sister, Sheri - also a mom, and one of my heroes. Sheri does not think of herself as heroic. She is. IN CAPS. I love you!

I'm thankful for the Moms that I work with. To name names would be to forget someone that shouldn't be forgotten, so I apologize in advance.  But to Annie and Torrie, Jill and Susan, Darice and Tracy and Dianna and Julia and Anna and Amber Marie and Amanda and Katie and Leah and Charity and Trisha and Ravis and Sammye Ann and Ashly and Candi and Ealana and Trish and Tina and anyone else I'm not naming: Happy Mothers' Day! Thanks for showing me every day what strength and devotion really are

They're motherhood.

Arizona part 2

My last blog post was just "Arizona". I'm guessing you can guess what it was about. It drew some reaction, mostly positive. And some negative. As I expected.

I lost a Facebook friend. 

One person suggested I shut up about it. OK, the exact words were {if you don't follow the behavior pattern prescribed in this post} "don't give it lip service".

I've always had an interesting reaction to being told to shut up. It does not involve shutting up.

Two other people posted:

JUST SO I UNDERSTAND THIS...YOU PASS THE NORTH KOREAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU GET 12 YRS HARD LABOR, YOU PASS THE AFGHAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU GET SHOT. YOU PASS THE AMERICAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU GET A JOB, DRIVER'S LICENSE, ALLOWANCE FOR A PLACE TO LIVE, HEALTH CARE, EDUCATION, BILLIONS OF DOLLARS SPENT SO YOU CAN READ A DOCUMENT. WE CARRY PASSPORTS IN OTHER COUNTRIES OR FACE JAIL TIME. REPOST IF YOU AGREE

This may have passed as wit in some circles, I guess.

YOU PASS THE NORTH KOREAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU GET 12 YRS HARD LABOR. Are you serious? Is the North Korean justice system one that you want to emulate? You call our President a Socialist, but you want us to be North Korea?

YOU PASS THE AFGHAN BORDER ILLEGALLY YOU GET SHOT. You should make up your mind. Is it North Korea you want us to be, or is it Afghanistan?

WE CARRY PASSPORTS IN OTHER COUNTRIES OR FACE JAIL TIME. Not all other countries. By the way, have you thought about why there is such heavy traffic coming north from Mexico but almost none coming south from Canada? (suggested answer later).

It does strike me as a bit unnerving that you can find anything you want on the Web, and you can support any position you want with what you find. Never mind whether there's any factual basis to what you find. Not my quote, but I wish it were: You are entitled to your own opinion. You are not entitled to your own facts.

Enough of that. Not one of the responses to me addressed the concerns I expressed: that this law is unnecessary (law enforcement can detain illegal immigrants now, if they have probable cause), it may well be unconstitutional (detaining US citizens - an almost inevitable consequence of this law - without probable cause, with reasonable suspicion established solely by racial profiling), and it's awfully gosh darn inflammatory. (Got YOU inflamed, didn't it?)

Just so we're clear, I also see the unrestrained flow of undocumented folks as an issue, and I take very seriously those who express such a concern. There are ways to slow or stop that flow that have been discussed endlessly for years. But, really, think about the consequences to throwing them all out.

Your groceries will get a lot more expensive. That produce that's so good for you? Harvesting it is backbreaking work - mostly done by  illegal immigrants. Never mind finding Americans to do that work. They won't - not at the wages that are paid. Same is true of the cattle industry.

Something that has happened a lot in the past. I don't know if it's ongoing.  Employer adds laborers. Employer gets the month or so of work that he wanted. Just before payday employer calls the INS. When payday comes around - look! no employees!

Please tell me how that squares with any notion of fairness.

Something else that happens. Mexican citizen marries a citizen of the USA. They form a family. Mexican citizen lives here and works hard for years. One would think that there would be some shortcut to citizenship for this person - like those years of working were a shortcut. But, no. When President Bush, in a truly decent act, floated something like that - a guest worker program - the hard right screamed blue and bloody murder. "AMNESTY!!!! NO AMNESTY!!!!!" So, this worker is sent - home?

You who value your families - you who call yourselves "family values" advocates - how do you square that with breaking up of other peoples' families?

I don't know, but maybe someone will tell me to shut up again. Maybe someone will have another ridiculous Facebook posting. Then I'll have to think of something more to say more about this. I'll leave the last word to someone far more important than I:

When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. . .for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me. . .Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.

Arizona

This morning I drove to St. Mary's Monastery in Rock Island for our monthly Oblates' meeting. On the way I had a Santana CD playing in my Mitsubishi. I love Santana, and I had the music a little loud. OK, it was the 57-year-old's version of blasting. All of Santana's music has a heavy Latin flavor (you expected?), and not all of the songs are in English.

Under Arizona's new law that could have gotten me pulled over. I'd have had to provide proof of my citizenship.

My opinion: this law is incredibly and needlessly inflammatory. It's racist in its aim (does anyone think this is aimed at a Czech student who overstayed her visa? seriously?). It's on very shaky constitutional grounds, and I'm guessing it will face a serious challenge. And, for its stated purpose it's unnecessary.

Some of those objections relate to one another. The law obliges law enforcement officers to require papers from anyone about whom there is "reasonable suspicion" of their legality. More about that term "reasonable suspicion" later, but what, exactly, would the grounds be for this reasonable suspicion? If a policeman saw someone walking down the street, what would trigger the thought, "I have a reasonable suspicion that this person is an illegal immigrant?" I know that there will be a lot of rationalizations that dance around the true answer. One California congressman said that he could tell by the way they dressed. Hmmm. . .Nonsense. There's only one thing that, in Arizona, would initiate such a thought.

Their brown skin. That's it, and that's all.

You think such racism is gone? The following incidents involved law enforcement officials, not in Arizona but right here in the Quad Cities.

A few years ago a woman on the west side of Davenport had her apartment invaded. The perps beat her and stole some items from her apartment. When the police arrived they investigated and took a report - AFTER making the victim provide proof that she was here legally. She's Mexican, you see. So, you've got someone who is scared, who needs medical attention, but the first thought in your mind was "Let's make sure she's here legally. We'll try to nail the perps later." Really?

A few weeks ago my parish pastor was called to the Bettendorf Police Dept. He was needed to bail out a parishioner. This person had been arrested for a seat belt violation. That was the only charge when Father got there. NOBODY gets arrested on a seat belt violation. NOBODY - unless you happen to have brown skin and you speak English with a funny accent.

If such things happen in the QCA - and I'd bet that most, even from here, didn't know they had - then what kind of thing would go on in a place where it's really a hot-button issue, like Arizona?

Part of the shakiness on constitutional grounds comes from that term, reasonable suspicion. Within law enforcement, reasonable suspicion has a meaning relating to the evidence indicating that an individual has committed an offense. Reasonable suspicion is the stage at which serious investigation begins. Normally, arrest and trial don't occur until the next level of certainty is reached - probable cause. If this law requires detaining people on only the basis of race without probable cause - the same level that it would take to get you arrested - then it is, very likely, unconstitutional. We'll have to see how that plays out.

The other issue of constitutionality has to do with a state infringing on a federal responsibility. The tenth amendment grants to states any powers not reserved to the federal government. Securing of borders is a task reserved in the constitution to the federal government. The state's not liking the way the federal government does that task is not reason for the state to usurp it. Again, we'll have to see how this plays in the courts.

The law is unneeded. Being in the country illegally is a crime now. Law enforcement may detain for that now - IF they have probable cause. This law only takes the (unconstitutional, in my opinion) step of taking the requirement for law enforcement down from probable cause to reasonable suspicion.

I expect that none of these considerations will mean much to the dyed-in-the-wool "Murca's our country and keep then furners out" folks. I'm thinking that this type of thought won't mean much in a state where John McCain has ditched any pretense to integrity because he's got a hard-right challenge from ol' J.D. And, this part of the country was Mexican territory for hundreds of years before it became part of the USA. It was Spanish-speaking long before any English-speaking person saw it.

Sleep well tonight and please don't be troubled by what the hard right is turning your country into.