Border Journal - 20 June 2005

Not 5 minutes ago I returned from delivering a toy to my daughter at a friend's house 1/2 mile down the road. My almost-9 year old son had stayed home with the doors locked. "What's that Daddy?" he bellows across the house. I pause to listen. After a short moment, I recognize exactly what it is. And I am very angry. It had been a full month since the last time an Al Quaida terrorist knocked on my backdoor after trekking the desert backcountry northward from the Mexican Border south of here.

This is late June in southern Arizona. It's the time of year when otherwise rational people daydream about sleeping on a bed of crushed ice at the salad counter in a restaurant. And today is very June-like. It's really hot. I mean hot as Hell, exactly the way Dante envisioned it. I don't know this guy's motives. And I don't know whether he is alone or he's a Coyote leading a band of crossers. But one thing I do know: For someone who just crossed the desert in June, this guy doesn't look very hot. Hmmm.... His shirt looks dry and he asks me for food and water in perfect English .

So what do I do now? I am a human being; he is a human being. I don't know his motives or even if he will be a threat when I open the door. But I am not going to deny him water. I told him I wouldn't give him food because it was a Federal crime, but he was welcome to all the water he water he needed. And then I closed the door.

HOMELAND SECURITY: WHAT A LOAD OF PURE CRAP.

/cm