Immigrants: America’s Hope?
Your Editor was recently in the San Francisco Airport, waiting to pick up a family member from an overseas flight. The plane was delayed, so the Editor parked himself in a seat for about an hour and just watched the steady stream of humanity — travelers and their welcoming families and friends — pass back and forth in front of him. There were no blacks, but just about every other variety of humanity was represented.
Let’s classify, not by race but skin color: There were “whites” (pink or light complexion) and “nonwhites” (light tan, tan, or medium-brown complexion).
All of the nonwhites — Chinese, Filipino, Indian, Iranian, Mexican, etc. — looked entirely normal. Families. Children. And more children.
As for the whites, the picture was mixed. Some looked normal, some not. There were plenty of “I’m-gay-and-I’m-proud” homosexuals, the in-your-face types. Apparently, the proudest of them all was a male homosexual couple pushing a baby in a buggy. One of the couple was a tall guy in a dark spaghetti-string tee-shirt, and under it the white straps of what looked like a bra were showing. Lo and behold, the guy had breasts the size of an ordinary woman’s. We don’t know how he managed this feat, and don’t want to know. Then there were the punk rockers with their spiked green or purple hair, and a generous selection of scraggly middle-aged hippies (what are those bald men with ponytails trying to prove?). And there were various unclassifiable individuals who had the look of being lost in the cosmos.
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