Last night we had a Fathers Day party in the parish hall. Really wonderful. Packed. Lots of great fellowship. After a great meal and a “three milk” cake (that’s the best), I started chatting with one of the guys, a Mexican, you know, without papers. Today he mows lawns for a living. He told me a story about what life was like in his state in Mexico. Calling to mind commentary one sometimes hears, it seems that prejudice might dictate that he’s a criminal low-life who is illiterate, perhaps a member of a cartel, surely a drug dealer. Hah!
He said he got a phone call one day. It was one of the kidnappers of his daughter. That’s the nightmare phone call no parent ever wants to get. The kidnappers wanted Mex$ 220,000.00 or they would kill his daughter. I asked him if he paid. He laughed, shaking his head in derision of my stupidity, saying “No! Never!” Instead, he himself then made a call to some friends, Mexican State Police. They then explained the matter to the kidnappers in person. ;-) His daughter was set free, safe and sound. You see, our lawn-mower friend is himself Mexican State Police with half a lifetime of experience, highly tactically trained, equivalent to one of our special ops guys, martial arts, weapons, tactics. I asked him if he would like me to have a chat with the Sheriff here. He would be a treasure for us. He jumped at the idea but wonders how the bureaucracy would work. I’m sure something can be done about his lack of papers. He’s been here some 13 years, pays his taxes and his ‘wait in line’ fees, blah blah blah. And he can get plenty of super excellent job refs from both here and the Mexican government. So… nothing is ever as it seems. He’s the guy who, instead, might be giving one of the locals a ticket or handing over a warrant. I love it. ;-)
ARISE! LET US BE GOING! 
Happy Father’s Day!!!
Nothing is ever as it seems…true. The plight of the flight from Latin Americas and beyond has crazily turned upside down and I am sick for the Border Patrol, LEO’s and the folk trying to escape to a better life. My Spanish teacher (from Cuba) could always be distracted from teaching us if we asked her to tell stories about her beloved Cuba. Her husband, a lawyer in former life, was janitor at our school. God rest their souls.
Happy Father’s day! My father was a restaurant owner before he became a deacon. He often found himself helping some undocumented treasure find good use of their talents. The first thing he always wanted to do was get them proper identification/ standing, but sometimes it was more of a matter of meeting the basic necessities of life, such as food, clothing, and safety.
Father, I don’t like this at all. I LOVE IT!!!!!
Hello from Medora, North Dakota!
– Jhon and Colleen Ward
Dear John and Colleen: Hope you’re back soon.