I was waiting for my buttered bagel and coffee in the local deli and chatting with the owner who is from Mexico. The conversation had started innocently enough with my complaint that baseball was over and there was nothing left to watch. It took a turn when Rojo told me that I could start watching more political stuff instead. That what was going on in D.C. was like the World Series and he had his radio on all day listening for indictments. And that led to the war in Iraq and he became angry. "What the hell are we doing over there anyway? It doesn't make sense."
He talked about kids he knew who came from Mexico and joined the army to make a better life for themselves. And he insisted, "it was not only for themselves - but they wanted to give something back to their new country. Some of the came with forged green cards just to get in. " Then a long pause, and he continues, "and some of them ended up giving an arm or a leg." He looked angry when he said it.
It was at that point - thinking of this kid from Mexico who had traveled from their home to serve America and who was mutilated - that I had to leave the store because I felt like crying. Very unusual feeling for me. I'm not even sure I cried at my own mothers funeral. And here I am in the deli with tears welling up.
Something in the look he had in his eyes that gave me an overpowering feeling of grief. I took my coffee and bagel and wished him and his wife a good day. I could tell that they saw how sad I was becoming and I had to get out of there.
