My Rant About Illegal Immigrants

I hire undocumented aliens to work for me.  And I intend to continue to do so.  Normally, I’m pretty “by the book” and law abiding.  I’ll argue a point, but eventually I give in and follow the law.  This is an exception.  A law (actually, a set of laws) this wrong is in a different category.

For all the venom and hatred being spewed about by some folks about “illegal immigrants” it’s time for someone to take a stand for these guys.  Sure, there are some bad guys out there. Some drug dealers, murders or rapists.  Although I haven’t seen any hard studies on it, I suspect that they exist in about the same ratios as the population in general, including all of those uber-conservatives with confederate flag bumper stickers who are quick to point out what a drain these individuals are on “our” resources.

Let’s put a face on those undocumented folks, though.  The face I’m thinkin’ about in particular are the two kids that come work in my yard on a more-or-less regular basis.  Just for convenience sake, we’ll call them “Desi” and “Ricky”.  They’re brothers, 16 and 14, and are a couple of the nicest kids you could possibly hope to find.

Desi, the oldest, is kind of quiet and reserved at first.  After he gets to know you a bit, you learn that he’s an honors student in high school and is in martial arts classes after school.  He did play soccer, but had to quit when they moved to a different school district this year.  He's read most of the Harry Potter books.

Ricky, his brother, is 14 and a soccer whiz.  He’s in the 8th grade, has a grin that could melt butter and, like his older brother, is in martial arts classes at school.  They have 2 younger sisters and live with their mom and dad, who are married.  Desi was 4 years old and Ricky was 2 when they came to the United States.  Their next sister was an arm baby, and the baby sister was born after they arrived.  Of the six, only little Lucy is a “legal” resident.

I first learned of this family when a friend of mine called and said I needed to hire them to come do some yard work.  Dad, who’d worked in the same factory for over 10 years, was a victim of the economy and had been laid off.  Incidentally, he has a tax ID number and has paid his income taxes every year, just like us “legal” residents do.  After Dad lost his job, of course, they soon lost their home.  Who among us could continue to afford to put a roof over their head if their job went away?

So I hired them to help with the yard work.  I expected the two boys to show up and was a little surprised the first day when Dad was right there with them.  Although he didn’t speak much English, relying on the boys to translate, his eyes told me all that I needed to know – this was someone who was worried about how he was going to provide the necessities of life for his family.  He was determined to do a good job, and to make sure that the boys did, too.

Now, my grandfather, who was a very wise man and was well schooled in the art of extracting useful farm labor from teenagers often said that, “One boy’s a boy, two boys is half a boy, and three boys ain’t no boy a’tall.” 

This probably was a commentary on how much my brothers and I fought.  That wasn’t the case with these guys, though.  They never slowed down.  If there was a slight pause, Dad was right there focusing their attention back on task.  The next day, Ricky had a soccer match and didn’t come, but Mom was  there in his place.  She worked just as hard as the guys, and, thankfully, understood that not everything green in the flowerbed was a weed before coming across the fall bulbs that were starting to show through the mulch.

This started a pattern.  Ever 3 or 4 days Desi calls to see if the lawn needs mowed or I need any help.  If the weather’s good we’ll work in the yard, and if not we’ll work around the basement or doing other things that every house needs done.  Because it’s soccer season now, a lot of times it’s just Desi, so we get to visit a bit and I’ve gotten to know him.

You learn things doing mundane jobs like bagging lawn clippings or sweeping the sidewalk or hauling junk out of the basement.  Desi is a junior in high school, and left all his friends behind when they had to move from their home to the 14 x 70 singlewide mobile home they now occupy.  It’s in a different school system, and of course there’s no question of trying to go back to the other school. 

He worries about the fact that he can’t go to college and may be doomed to a life of common labor, without the opportunity to seek something better for himself or his family.  The family talks about the need for him to go to college, and there’s some discussion about him going back to their country of origin for that.  Such a plan presents a different set of problems, though.

Although both of the boys are bilingual, I asked if Desi thought he could do college level work in Spanish.  He doesn’t think so.  After all, he hasn’t ever had to read or write in Spanish.   It’s the primary language at home, but that’s all spoken.  He recognizes that he doesn’t have a good concept of grammar or sentence structure.  It’s a concern that a 16 year old kid shouldn’t have.

There are other things that they can’t do because of their status.  He can’t get a driver’s license, that right of passage for virtually all 16 year olds.  He won’t be able to get married whenever he falls in love, can’t go visit his grandparents in Mexico, or do any number of other things that we “legal” residents take for granted.

And yet, he wants to stay here.  Not to sponge off of the community, but to become a productive part of the society in which he has lived for most of his life.

This young man came here when he was 4 years old.  His siblings were even younger.  Realistically, they had no input whatsoever in the decision of whether or not to come to the United States.  Just as any other child would be, they were brought along for the ride.  To demand that they return to another country to live at this point makes about as much sense as telling me to sprout wings and fly.

Punishing people in this position makes no sense whatsoever.  These kids had nothing to do with the decisions that were made by their parents – the same decision, incidentally, which many of our forefathers made -- to simply try to go somewhere else to make a better life for their families.  They’ve been educated here, they speak English, they listen to the same music as other kids their age and go to church in this community.  They deserve, if not to be made full citizens, to at least be able to become law abiding by being allowed to get drivers licenses, go to school and make a better life for themselves and their communities. 

People breaking the law and coming to the United States as adults is a problem and they should be held accountable.  Our laws will determine if that means that they must pay a fine, go to jail, or even be removed from the country.  Children who are brought here, though, are not criminals, they are victims and they should be treated as such.