My America

Tonight, my youngest child had her vocal music concert. It was a spectacular display of Americana. The kids were all decked out in red, white and blue, as they sang familiar patriotic tunes and rhythmically waved flags to familiar tunes. I smiled as the kids sang about the purple mountain majesties and amber waves of grain. I waved at other parents in the crowd, and ogled at the newborn baby curled up in her daddy’s arms just a couple of rows away.

I saw a familiar little face, appearing to sing all the words and doing all the motions along with her classmates. She was dressed in a turquoise sequins and her face was lit up. I’m not talking about my baby, though her patriotism was just as evident. This little girl is a child I met last year on a field trip. She spoke no English, and the dialect she spoke wasn’t even available on Google translate. But she stood on those risers today reciting the name of all 50 states, and waving her flag just like the rest of the kids in her class, and I was proud of her, and happy for her, and excited that she could participate in this way.

This is my America.

After a few quick pictures and hugs, we loaded up in our car and headed home, and I made the mistake of looking at the news. This was the first story I saw. I fought back tears , and literally felt sick to my stomach. Missouri State representative David Gregory wants to basically put a thousand dollar bounty on the heads of illegal immigrants in Missouri. I am disgusted, and heartbroken that someone, an elected official, no less, would think that this is a good idea.

I wonder how far this law will go. I wonder how much support it will gather in mid-Missouri towns that are dependent on migrant workers for agricultural work. I wonder if the law will generate support from across the state lines. I wonder how long it will take for armed vigilantes to be roaming around our towns looking for folks they think might be “illegal.”

This too, is my America.

We are waving our flags and our rifles. We place a hand over our hearts and turn a blind-eye to injustices happening in front of our faces. We believe in We the People, but we don’t necessarily trust our neighbors.

America is a dream our minds cannot quite wrap itself around, so we navigate it the best we can.

We put our hands to plow and try to make our little corners of the world as livable and as loveable as we can. That’s why I spent two nights this week at local schools, to hear children singing about hope and freedom. That’s why I was drawn to the little girl who is working so hard to learn a language other than her native tongue. This is why I write instead of simply screaming into the void. We have to work to make America the dream it can be.

Or it will become the nightmarish hellscape of other people’s imaginations, as envisioned in Missouri Senate Bill 72.