a wish

He is the poster child come to life. Born in California, raised in Mexico, he is one of those that we are warned about: an American by paperwork, by technicality, here to take ours away. I mean to help him, but not for spite. I mean to help him the best that I can.

Right now that birth certificate means little on his long road to a better life. He is a seventeen year-old with a sixth grade education. Do the math; I'm not sure he can. But he can fix cars: he is a mechanic, by skill though not certification. He has been learning that trade since he was a boy, and though my first reaction is, "Good. You'll make money, regardless," I have another dream. I'm not sure if it's his, too--our mutual languages have not yet advanced to be certain of these finer points--but my wish for him is an accumulation of paper: certificates or transcripts or whatever it takes to show he is a real mechanic who can get a real job, and not just work underneath the shade tree. It's a vision that may be a fantasy. Maybe, maybe not.

It'll take English, then a GED, then whatever. It's a long road, as I've said. If we had a few extra months for him at the high school, we could get him into tech school--assuming the English, assuming the math, assuming the credits-- assumptions I would never make. But though he knows this is already Plan B, that there have been, already, complications, he is eager and he is undaunted. "Me gusta inglés," he says, and everyday he learns more. His hope may not last, but I choose to believe. And I cross my fingers for my fellow citizen.