Firecracker Baby

  I was born on the Fourth of July. Just writing that makes me smile. It was the one day a year poverty could not touch. No matter what - the parade would march by, throwing candy at us kids. The carnival would take over the town square of Chariton, Iowa and even just one ride was a thrill. Ice cold watermelon juice dripped down our bare summer legs onto the front steps. When the sun finally called it a day is when the real fun began - fireworks overhead and sparklers in our hands, waving to make our own show.

  It was just simple fun. The kind we almost take for granted here in the United States. Where we have peace to live our life the way we want. Even if all we want is just that one ride, just that one piece of watermelon, just a chance to dance with a sparkler in our hand. But what if it weren't that way? What if you woke up one day and uniformed militia guarded every bank, every large store with machine guns as you walked in? What if you had to take your child to the airport in the middle of the night, to greet the next flight from America - so you could point out the richest looking woman - 'Right there - her - go to her.' Telling them the most likely target to beg from.

  What if instead you had been born in Guatemala? That was the future my son Isaac faced until we were blessed with the opportunity to rescue him. At least that is how it started. As I look at his beautiful face now it's obvious he rescued us from so much more.

  When I turned towards the ocean that day at Sea Mart, my heart told him, you are home now. This shining place where diamonds play across the water - this is your future. At that point, we should have been left in peace to live our life. We were in America - right? I was soon to find out I no longer lived in the land of the free.