I went today to participate in an effort to help young people who were brought to the United States when they were children, some as young as six months, whose sense of themselves as Americans is the same as mine has always been... except that they live in fear of being plucked out of the only country they have ever known because they lack the same passport that I can carry because I was born in the country that we, they and I, think of as ours.  They are unquestionably loyal to this country.  They are dreamers.  They are the dreamers who are putting themselves at risk to participate in DACA, Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals.  I am part of DAN, Dreamer Assistance Network.  

The Song Some Sing at Tea Time in Arizona...
And a few where I live join in...

My country,

‘Tis of thee I sing,

Sweet land of liberty...

Not your country... mine, mine...

Don’t try to take it for your own.

It’s mine!  It’s mine!

Hands off if you’re thinking

I can spare some of it for you

or your kind who were not
to the manor born
and never did anything

at all to earn it.

I myself was born here

I’ve got rights...

First dibs, you might say.

You’ve got nothing.

If you’re thinking

I’ll give up any part of it it

for you

to squander,

you can think again.

Tortillas

and beans

are all right for beaners.

Not for all of us

whom God really

loves

and wants us

to have chic-fil-A.

If I had time

away from my business

of patriotic citizenship

perhaps I could

give a damn

at least for foreigners

whose skin is more like mine

and speak God’s language...

the kind of English Jesus spoke.

Once more with feeling!

God bless America...

At least my part of it.