Enemy at the Gate
There is an enemy at the gate. An excited man signals he is of Hispanic descent when he yells puta madre! I believe that is what he keeps saying. He says it loud like he's either angry with the old woman and little girl who live next door, or maybe the shouting is directed to me. This manic mexican voice is just outside the window of my water closet. Me no hablo hispanola, pero I understand the drums of war. When I hear the the cry for battle, my blood flows like melted butter, and it makes my muskles jump like a frog. I am a Henderson. My family is no stranger to the ways of combat. My wife made me promise not to get involved in matters of this sort when she is away, and she is away. I am not even supposed to get froggy when she is here. When my wife is not with me, her voice is the strongest. I heed the commands of the woman I love when she is away. Her voice inside my head has kept me safe and warm many a night in the free world. I don't like going to jail. There is no love or medicine within the bars of the shire reeve, and these are two things this ole boy needs on the regular. I just listen to this southsider as I wash my hands and creep towards my weapons. I am an old man now. I have hit 50. I am not interested in tussling with a young man like the good ole days. These days my wrestling skills are preserved for my woman and exigent circumstances solomente. I am safe in my abode, and may God rest the soul of any man that breeches our peaceful home. Make a note! The days of the door of my home coming off the hinges and me submitting are over.
The remainder of this story requires that I give the readers some background. Last week I was enjoying the love of my wife, and due to the banging noise made by our bed up against the wall, we unknowingly raised the ire of the people that live next door to us. We had no intent to anger the people sleeping on the other side of the sheetrock, but like LAPD the little girl that lives next door bagged on my door just before midnight. It was the second time she did this. The first time she raised the alarm at my door like she was trying to take it down, my wife answered and apologized, like a good neighbor should, in order to keep the peace. This time, I didn't wait to wrap anything but my kilt around to walk outside and answer everyone's questions on the matter. No one had questions that I could understand. The kid was yelling about respect and repeating some prison jargon about when it's time to radio the volume, but the older woman did NOT know English. I walked past the kid because there was no opportunity to debate her. I failed to convince the old woman that I understood the problem, and it wouldn't happen again. I decided at that time to move our bed into another room that doesn't share a wall with the neighbors on that side.
I prayed that the matter was concluded, but because of the communication breakdown, I was prepared for the worst. Currently, I live in a ghetto. Literally, I am surrounded by crippled and low income families that pay $50 a month rent and the federal government though your taxes pays the rest. My wife and I were made homeless by the government many moons ago, and although we are not strangers to the San Gabriel Valley, we are new to Azusa. We have never met anymore who lived in Azusa because of the differences in the culture and heritage. According to the 2010 United States Census my community includes 68% people who speak Spanish in their home. It is hard to get along when conversation is limited. When I saw the old woman was unable to speak a word of English, and she walked away, the little girl said something about something, and I told her that I did not give an adult word. I walked past her and slammed my door shut. The next morning, I learned that they snitched us out to the social judges at the welfare paper signing office. We got a legal notice that meant absolutely nothing from my experience as a man who attended law school. Pro tip: As a landlord, it is not good policy not to challenge people who know the law. As a young man I won many a physical battle, and as an old man I see no legal losses in my future. We have a meeting with the social justice welfare court this week.
I am a stranger in the land I walk. I was born in the American South. We are a military people. I fear no man. My family fights on the front line of any marches my community undertakes. You name the war, and I will name the battle where my ancestors fought and returned home. One day when I have the time and my talkie program is installed so I can just speak, I will sing you the songs of freedom gained and maintained with the help of my family. Being able to defend yourself is a blessing and a curse because tyrants are the mortal enemy of free men. Are you good at something you hate? I want to make peace, but everywhere I look, I see people who hate me without reasonable cause. Some believe that just because I am a giant that I am not friendly. I am 6'4'', which is not basketball legend height, but I have not looked up to many people that I have ever met. It is a dammed shame how all my adult life I have had to look down on almost everyone. Who could blame me for not considering the fact that I may have the upper hand?
I return to the washroom and stepped into our midget bathtub to look out the high and tight window down to survey the battlefield. I get a look at the loud noise that kept saying "puta madre" like someone was not able to hear him. I saw a little Mexican looking man. I squeezed my weapon as I advanced quickly to the door, but I bit my tongue. I did NOT touch the handle. My wife's voice has kept me from the pokey many times, and this series of events aften seem familiar to me. When a man is sitting in the cell late at night when he can't sleep from thinking about the events that led to his incarceration, these are the events that he replays in his head. Over and again the prisoner replays his crime. A check of my arrest history will confirm that sometimes my neighbors overestimate their skills in dancing. Fair warning: I keep a fresh pair of Danners' military grade footwear by my bed. Every work day, early in the morning just before prayer, I lace my dancing shoes up real tight. They are all I have to wear. I am well trained in various martial arts by Military Police instructors from my youth. I was born in Fort McPherson. My cub scout troop met in the mess hall. I graduated Fort Stewart Elementary School. The first college I attended? Georgia Military Institute. Want some? I'm ready! My families blood has been spilt in the mud of many continents. Our family motto when the roll is called before battle? The Hendersons are here! Search it on DuckDuckGo.com to verify.
I am not disrespecting the people who come here to escape totalitarianism. I hope one day to live in peace with everyone, but as long as immigrants send their children to the tyrant for education, the tyrant will train their children to hate me. I am a "little" upset about the fact that some who immigrate here fall back into the same mindset that enslaved them. These people are addicted to the statism that made them flee the tanks that were running them over in their land. First and foremost: I respect every man on a personal level. I got love for my compadre. Test me on this! However, I admit. When my neighbor reaches for the phone to call the folks to settle our issue prior to coming to me, I become disruptive. My God says to me don't do this to them. So, when they do this to me, I assume they are godless. But, I have never seen a man around their door until today. Who can blame the widow and the fatherless? I was neither angry with this old woman who lives next door nor her daughter. When I saw their possible champion was a little man, I relaxed because I have learned through the years that little people feel the need to talk big when they feel under attack. My experience has taught me that when a short person is confronted with trouble, he relies heavily on emotion. I am not judging his assessment of the matter. At best, he only had his sister and mother's version. They did not let him in the house when he came to call, so I assume that the sister told him her version and the mother was not supportive of the remedy that he proposed.
Lastly, who is to say that this guy was mad at me? He may be just a victim of the democrat scheme to keep their voters enslaved. He may be the father coming by to visit his daughter but the old woman won't let him in because the democrats will take away her welfare if she gets back together with him. Or, he could be a local nickel bagging gangster that regularly shakes down the wetbacks he helped to smuggle here. Who knows? Not me. No matter what that guy's problem is, I have to do something to make peace with this old woman next door. Please help your brother figure this out. This old woman may have saved her son from a thorough behind whopping, but for sure I should try to make peace to stop the snitching. Help me figure out what to do. Loving my neighbor is important to me. What can I do to stop the hate? I need a good solution that transcends language. To those who love peace: May G-d bless your family with mercy and bring justice to your enemies.