2-22-24 LIFE IN OUR SANCTUARY CITY

Yesterday, while out enjoying the sun, I pulled into one of the bays at the car wash at Bear Valley, determined to clean the muddy cat paw prints off the hood of my car (my neighbor cats does think that car is hers). I noticed a tall, handsome, young man with a bike leaning against the fence across the parking lot, and as I got out to start the sprayer, he came towards me, held up a large towel, and pointed at my car. I realized he was offering to wipe it down.I had no cash, nothing to offer him, so I shook my head, hoping my smile eased the rejection He nodded, went back to his bike, and I decided to just leave, to clean my car at home.

I rolled down my window as I passed him and said, “You have a good, sunny day today, eh?”

He said, “I speak no English.”

I nodded, steepled my fingers to acknowledge him, then gave a small wave before heading home.

I cried all the way home. Here was this young man, about the age of my tall, handsome grandson, just trying to find his way in a whole new world. Not allowed to work, yet willing. I hoped he made some money yesterday. I hoped no one beat him up, and took it. I hoped he had a bed to sleep on, rather than a mat on the floor of a warehouse with hundreds of others. I couldn’t help him; had nothing to offer. Just as I have nothing to offer the young family,-mother/father/baby in stroller/two year old- on the corner of Evans and Federal every single day begging.

Our politicians purport they’ve made great humanitarian moves, claiming to be sanctuary cities and states with no sustainable plans for the people they promise to help. Playing on the sympathy and hearts of their citizens to fix their mess. Pontificating from their podiums, sounding grand, before heading back to their protected residences.I’m no longer angry about it…just sad. God save us from our politicians, eh? All of them.