They're handmade gifts.
For care packages.
There's an oddity about these gifts. But they're handmade, and there are hundreds of them. Maybe a thousand.
I questioned Brian, and he told me a lady dropped them off, and left it at that. At dinner though, I pushed him: where did these things come from?
Houston, we have a problem. A woman did drop off hundreds of her handmade gifts for soldiers. She proceeded then, to spew prejudice and hatred for other races to my kid, bashing pretty much everyone.
She boycotts the St. Joseph Dairy Queen, she said, because it's run by an Arab family (her words). She spoke of "The" Blacks and "The" Mexicans, and when my new neighbors of Indian descent drove into their driveway, she hissed "Foreigners!!!" She doesn't like "The Foreigners."
Brian and John were reeling when she left, and I was dead on the floor after they relayed the story to me.
I didn't even see this woman, and yet I imagine her, toiling over these projects. She imagines herself donating time and supplies, for the troops. She is doing a patriotic thing, dropping them off, at my home.
Is her good intent enough?
Does good intent wrought with hatred and prejudice even count as good intent?
I walk around those two bags, tonight, like they're filed with vipers. They reek of evil and lack of acceptance. They contaminate every fiber of what our project is about, part of which is ignoring cultural and social barriers and accepting our differences.
I will not put them in my care package to my soldier-babies. Bad Juju.
Madam: If you read this blog, I respectfully apologize: Your packages have been returned to my porch. I return them to you. You may pick them up, and mail them yourself.
They do not represent me.
I simply cannot.
Oh, and don't bother ringing the doorbell.
I'll be at Dairy Queen. In St. Joseph.