Virgie Bell's View: Between us and the shadows

There are eight states in the United States who give drivers licenses to illegals. I find it more than a little unsettling. I recall at the time of 2003 when this law went into effect, the illegal immigration thing was not all that important. We knew it was a problem, but then again, to some segments within a society, it is an advantage. To the political fat cats it is a huge advantage. We have all become accustomed to showing our drivers license as a means of identification when giving a check as payment for a transaction. If it bounces, they want to know where to find you and make sure you pay that amount that you in effect still owe. No one carries a birth certificate around. The excuse has been given that it is so we can make sure a person has insurance or will not flee the scene of an accident, but this is nothing more than a smoke screen.

Now I have nothing whatsoever about someone being poor. I have lived a life of feast or famine myself. Fat bank accounts and huge assets are not readily identified with me. I was a child when I lived at Hanover Atomic Energy Facility. We had a movie theatre, a grocery store, one half day of school and barbed wire all around. I became used to the military right there. In row after row of little trailer houses, I learned what is really important in life: shade. An awning. In the middle of a desert with no trees, barbed wire keeping you in and others out, no matter how much you tried, you still felt confined. This was part of the Manhattan Project, the making of the atomic bomb that brought World War 2 to a close. It took two flights and two bombs.

In this internment camp and rest assured that’s just what it was, far away from anything, soldiers wearing bands, carrying rifles, walked to and fro in front of a military barracks. This encampment was guarded in the same manner as the Tomb of the Unknowns. Back and forth, back and forth day and night. Life got down to basics and little children learned to set in the meager shade in the dirt by a small trailer house. Mom and Dad had the bed. Our bed folded down into a table and Mickey and Bennie slept at the head and I slept at the foot. Everybody did that in the camp. Of course, no matter the neighborhood, the Joneses were still keeping up with the Joneses. At Hanford you could still envy the Joneses. At least I did. I envied the little Jones girl who had the biggest shade of all. It was a neighborhood filled with children and very few old people. They were at home helping to take care of things like planting victory gardens or knitting scarves for our military. I literally grew up a military brat around other military brats. Shipping ports were all around me. I was used to those soldiers walking back and forth...back and forth ...day and night. Our dads were the ones who welded the ships, kept an eye on the homefolks and learned to keep their mouths shut. I witnessed war first hand through the eyes of those who were left behind. I know how hard it was on us, but above everything, I remember the laughter in that particular slice of history. I learned early in life that our military was all that stood between us and the nations who would destroy us. I am ashamed of those who do not support our military now. As I said, I wasn't in Vietnam, didn't know a lot about it, but there was never a time that I did not support our troops. I know what it was to live behind barbed wire in a secret place within a secret society.

We are selling ourselves out with this driver’s license business. Giving identification to illegal immigrants is giving our shade away. A pleasant little patch of grass with a little shade. A place to safely grow old. A big block of votes is all that matters anymore. Politicians are just what they are. They must win the office no matter what, even when they have to sell out our military, those fighting for our freedom, going back and forth, back and forth, day and night, all over the world ... back and forth day and night.

SUPPORT THE TROOPS!