Each week, the folks kind and brave enough to speak to me, sometimes in public, about this column all seem to have the same single rope they’re hanging onto — common sense.
Common sense as a whole doesn’t make up much of a pie, though it should dictate how much of our pie is given away.
We seem to enjoy giving so much of our pie away that we end up fighting wars over a piece we should have kept a closer eye on.
When we finally understand we want that particular slice back, we gather it up and announce to the world, “We don’t want to play anymore.”
Those of us with even a slim thread of common sense realize you never tell the opposing team you’re quitting and taking your pie home with you.
They’ll laugh a bit and gather by the swings in that playground huddle, pointing and giggling about what they’ll do first to our remaining teammates when we leave.
Naturally, the bleeding hearts that hold the pie pan will report that all is going well and the friends we left on shore will manage just fine. Of course, the ugly head of history will rise up and remind us all that each time we leave our good intentions at the bus stop, all hell breaks loose and more people die.
Naturally, the bleeding hearts will remind us that these small skirmishes were expected and the losses are acceptable — after all didn’t we get our pie back? Somewhere, in the foggy part of my memory, I remember words to this effect after the 10,000 days we spent in Vietnam.
Now comes the conflict that’s brewed at our southern door for generations, one we started by holding the pie just out of reach whispering, “Come and get it. It’s here just for you.” So then they came, the flood of humanity looking for their slice of our pie, most willing to work for it, some so lazy they stole chunks of it as the pie lay in honest hands.
Those who stole the chunks of pie soon realized that as punishment they’d be given a slap on the wrist and warned never to come back as they climbed aboard the comfy bus to rest up and plan their next trip north.
We as a society somehow decided that since so many of our southern neighbors were already here and more were sure to follow, that we should forget about the use of English as a language and started putting up signs and changing labels on all our products for the flood of immigrants.
I see no common sense in pressing 1 on the phone to hear an outsourced voice trying to speak English, nor do I understand toilet tissue and paper towels labeled bilingual.
Common sense realizes we have a serious problem that’s about to explode on both sides of the border. What if, by chance, the states immediately affected by this problem drew a line in the sand and told the illegals it stops here or face a predetermined sentence in one of our hospitable federal prisons?
And, to those choosing legal immigration, the line starts over there. This all sounds so simple. Well, common sense usually is.
Our eastern neighbor, Hayden, got stimulus money for new sidewalks and such.
Where was Craig when the begging and pleading started for this pretend money? Doesn’t the time tunnel of death known as Highway 13 deserve some stimulus bucks? Forgive me. Common sense blurted that part out.
Hey, you be careful out there.