The "New" America

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The "New" America
by "Grace Murrell"

March 29, 2006

I am a relic, a throwback to the antiquated days.

When my mother and father got married nearly 45 years ago, they said the words "till death us do part" and meant them. When both sets of my grandparents got married, they said the words "till death us do part" and meant them, spending lifetimes together. When my husband and I got married 12 years ago, we said the words "till death us do part." We meant them then, and we still mean them. This was a holy vow to God, and that is serious business, indeed.

There was no question that the children born in these marriages were the biological babies of the husband and wife. There was no need for paternity tests, private detectives, prenuptial agreements, or separate credit reports. And while all children were welcome with loving arms, the birth of sons was particularly celebrated, as it represented a continuation of our family's name.

Lying was not tolerated in my parent's house. Lying about a wrongdoing only made your punishment worse. Stealing was not tolerated in my parent's house. If you stole something, you had to apologize, give it back, make restitution, and all this was before they opened a can of "whoopasss" on you when you got home so that you'd know never to do it again. If a cashier overpaid you, you told them and returned the change. If you failed a test, you studied harder for the next one. If you didn't do your homework, you didn't go out to play.

You lived by the rules; you obeyed the law; you respected your elders, your country, and God.

I am a relic, a throwback to antiquated days.

I don't play around with the IRS, often paying them more than is due so I can hope for a small refund come April 15th. I don't borrow things from my place of employment; it's not mine, it doesn't belong to me. I don't shirk my bills, even my daughter's astronomical medical ones; they are my debt to pay and I pay them. If I need a permit for something, I get it. If I need insurance for something, I get it. If the law says "don't do this," I don't.

Yes, a relic.

You see, it would never occur to me to willingly break the law, sneak into someone's home, sleep in their bed, help myself to their stuff, but then do the dishes as a sad means of "recompense" for eating everything in their fridge. But in the time it takes you to read this article, over 14 people will have done just that. They will have snuck in from across the border, flagrantly violating the law with their very first step on American soil, and will continue to operate outside of the law for as long as possible. They will access an educational system they haven't paid into, receive charity they aren't entitled to, rack up medical debts they will never settle, and take jobs from Americans because their cheap labor helps suppress wages. They will jump ahead of the people who, like our parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents before us, went through all the hoops necessary to become Americans.

Some of them will run drugs into this country to poison our families and communities. Some of them will commit heinous crimes and be even more difficult to track because they aren't in the system. They'll give Uncle Sam the middle-finger treatment, and Uncle Sam will coddle them.

I am a relic.

I used to think that the Democrats cared about the Working Class Joe. I used to think the Republicans cared about the Rule of Law. I used to think the President cared about National Security.

But this latest bout of political wrangling and posturing on Capitol Hill has only proved what the relics, like me, wanted to deny all along: that both parties are weak-kneed, spineless, vote whores who will prostitute America to an army of invading lawbreakers, and then hand law-abiding Americans the bill for "services" rendered. They'll tell me that I can't stray from The Party because the Other Side will just make things worse. They'll tell me how they Can't Do This and the Media will not allow them to Do That, blah, blah, blah, and bury the principles of this great country under an avalanche of verbal horse manure, photo ops, and microphone jockeying. They will run scared at the first branding of racism and cry crocodile tears for the plight of the underprivileged. They will attempt to relegate the rules of law, justice, fairness, and equality to the dustbin of history.

And I will hate them for it.

So go ahead, Capitol Hill. Motivate me. Motivate me to work for your opposition, to make phone calls, to walk precincts, buy lawn signs, and vote for those who would run against you. Motivate me to throw your backstabbing backsides out of into the cold. I'm not afraid of name-calling; I won't be swayed by cutesy terms and sloganeering that attempt to mask an exploding problem; I'm too old, too crusty, and too damned angry to feel sympathy for folks who are exploiting the system at my family's expense.

You may be too weak-kneed and spineless to do anything to fix this situation.

But I'm not.

I am a relic. ***