Refugees aren’t strangers walking off a plane — not permanently. One of my mentors was a North African refugee 30 or 40 years before we met, and now cooks spaghetti and hassles me about whether I’m living up to my potential. A college dormmate of mine was part of a family granted asylum after persecution in the USSR; she teased me for watching Twin Peaks seven years after eveyone else. A lost boy of Sudan is a member of my church. I’ve known him for maybe a decade. He’s getting a law degree now. These are my neighbors. This is my America.
Tag: my America
If you missed the Rose Parade (or want to watch it again, newly flush with the knowledge that it’s my and my Dad’s favorite parade), I highly recommend KTLA’s coverage, which is essentially perfect: it shows the entire parade straight through, with great camera coverage, no commercials, and no cutaways to talking heads. Best parade; best possible televisual presentation of a parade. There are real dogs on real surfboards, miniature horses dressed as unicorns, marching bands from Tennessee and Japan, folklorico dancers, a float by the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, a dove-release dedicated to the Pulse nightclub, and too many gorgeous blooms to count. Get you a dose.
(The stream definitely works from outside of the US. Did for me.)