Proudly Inspected by #7
I got something more powerful than a ‘fortune cookie’ prophecy… I think I heard from God. After five months living in our new place out in Arvada just a few miles south of Wyoming (hyperbole), a brand new King Soopers giant store opened. At this ‘Super’ Sooper store you can buy everything from garden hoses and clothes to the best vegan selection around. I needed some new shorts and so about a month ago I bought a pair hoping I would like them. They were great. I decided it was time for a second pair—bingo, I scored. This week we went up to the mountains for three days of goofing around. On Tuesday I put on my brand new shorts and headed to a very small AA meeting in Edwards. When I reached in my pocket to get my donation I pulled out my money clip and a little white piece of paper came with it that said: proudly inspected by number seven. The irony of an anonymous inspector at an anonymous meeting did not escape me.
In round two of sharing at this meeting, I shared with the small group my discovery that somebody known as “number seven” had proudly inspected the new shorts. We then began to talk about all the number sevens in the world who do so many of the jobs that we take for granted. They clean our streets, harvest our food, pick up our trash, create our clothes, and just get by living day to day. One of the things I have loved about driving for Lyft is that I’ve been privileged to have numerous conversations with a few of the “number sevens” that make our community work. Yes, many of them have come from south of the border. I’m sure that some of them got here in the manner that is currently living in our faces. I am not advocating whether this is right or wrong, because I certainly see the complications of an immigration policy that is beyond hypocritical and seemingly impossible. What I know is that the vast majority of people I’ve met while driving for Lyft, that I would call “number sevens”, are people with whom I am very glad to share my home, Colorado.
What I see happening right now breaks my heart. When I was not quite four years old, after my mom had given birth to my brother Charlie, her third child in four years, she was overtaken with postpartum psychosis. I very much remember her disappearing. My dad said she went to the hospital. My sister Rita and I were “farmed out”. Rita and I have recently talked again and again about our memories of being separated from our
parents. We were sent on a daily basis to what was called the Pueblo Day Nursery, which my sister Rita has nicknamed —‘Baby Boot-Camp’.
I have a very distinct memory of being taken down into a stairwell by a woman in a uniform who punched, kicked and shoved me down the stairs just because I wanted to stay with my 2 1/2-year-old sister. There were many other very painful things that happened during this period of time. I am not lifting myself up as a victim, but rather, someone who knows the deep and profound pain that being separated from your parents causes one, when you’re that young.
What we are doing currently as a result of actions from our President and the Departments of Justice and Homeland Security is unconscionable!!! It is evil, it is wrong, inhuman, and it must be stopped. This is not a Republican versus Democrat issue. This is about our very humanity and human decency, if you will, our eternal soul. That this is allowed to go on is beyond my comprehension. These children are not just “number sevens”… they are children of God with families. We must figure out a
better way. God drew no lines on the Earth 🌏 .
Hebrews 13:2 says, “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby
some have entertained angels unaware”. Onward and Upward,