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85th Birthday
Next thing I know, I hear them arguing about the political correct way
to deal with all those immigrants coming into the United States.
85th BIRTHDAY
One of my tables is getting louder and louder. They had
already three rounds of drinks so far and I am waiting for their food to come up. These
are eight full-size well-nourished businessmen from Northern California in their forties and
fifties who have been playing golf in nearby Pebble Beach. After settling the money part
of their bets and finishing their talk about scores, one starts with politics. Next thing
I know, I hear them arguing about the political correct way to deal with all those
immigrants coming into the United States. It's all about "Should or shouldn't we
allow them into the country!"
"It's not only the illegals who cause the
problems."
"Immigrants, they work for less than Union wages
and everybody hires them for they provide cheep labor, everybody hires them."
"Even the governor did hire some wet backs, didn't
he?"
"He blames his wife."
"Bull!"
"As long as they are available as cheep labor,
people will hire them!"
"So let's close the borders!"
"Yes! Kick them all out."
"Send them all back to where they belong!"
"It's them, these illegal s.o.b.s who use and
abuse our welfare system isn't it?"
"...like rabbits and we have to pay for their
babies."
"We pay for everything, hospital delivery, medical
bills, schooling, welfare and social security."
"They clog our streets and drive without
insurance."
"They are no good for our economy, sending all
their money home . . . "
"They are the nation's real problem. All these
mother f......s should stay home. We do not need any more of these . . . "
Having a discussion is okay, but this group of men
is getting too loud. The whole dining room is hearing their debate. Every customer at
every table in the restaurant is listening. I am not too keen to go and tell them to keep
the voices down. Nevertheless, I know I better do so before other guests start
complaining. Slowly I head for their table. I guess all I can say is, "Please
gentlemen can you keep your voices somewhat down?" On second thought I have to tell
them to refrain from cussing as there are ladies in the room.
Yet before I get to say anything, a frail looking
older lady is stepping in my path and I hear her angry voice, "Young men, you should
be ashamed of yourself. How can you talk like this about immigrants?"
I notice eight big mouths popping open, eight pairs of
eyes and as many sets of ears are focusing on the tall simple dressed but authoritative
acting lady. She has everybody's attention, it's quiet at the golfer's round table, as a
matter of fact it's quiet in this section of the restaurant. Everybody wants to hear what
this gutsy lady has to say and she does say what she feels she has to say:
"I am an immigrant. I came here seventy-five years
ago. If they wouldn't have allowed me into this free country, I too would be dead. Like
the rest of my family who stayed behind in the Old Country!"
She gives each man a quick glance. "Look at
yourself! None of you looks to me like a Native American. Your parents or grand parents
must have been immigrants at one point. Just like me! Where would you be if they wouldn't
have allowed your forefathers into this country? Ask yourself where would you be
today?"
She relaxes and a forgiving smile appears on her face
as she says, "Never mind boys! Today is my eighty-fifth birthday, and I am thankful.
It's all by the grace of God and this great country we are allowed to live in. Please
listen to me! Let us keep the doors open for all the new arrivals."
I help her with her chair as she quietly sits down.
Many guests applaud her, including the table of golfers.
I take good care of her table and bring her a
special dessert with a birthday candle. The eight golfers apologizing send the
"birthday girl" a flower-bottle of Champagne. She is all smiles. At
the eight top the subject has changed now they argue about organized religion.

GoTo The
Milieu 12

04/01/11