It seems the Bush administration has backed up a bit on at least using the term amnesty and is now considering a "guest worker" program. This might be ok, except that, in general, when people are in a country illegally it is because they don't want to leave (which is what they would otherwise be made to do), and "guest" implies a limited term of stay. What makes these authorities think that people who risk all kinds of things every day in order to stay in a country are going to willingly sign up to be a guest worker, and therefore have to eventually leave, is beyond me.

The Bush White House is considering granting legal status to millions of Mexicans who are living in the country illegally. Part of me thinks good for them if they get it, but part of me has some issues with the proposal. First of all, why just Mexicans? Other than Bush's relationship with
Mexico's Vicente Fox, I can't come up with an answer. Sure Bush is sucking up to the Hispanic vote, but he could do that just as well by passing a measure for a broader group. And yes, I am aware that Mexican nationals make up a large chunk of the illegal immigrant numbers, but, again, it seems to me that passing such an amnesty for all illegal immigrants that meet certain requirements would achieve the same thing. Then there's the more personal issues: I have been in the US since I was thirteen. I don't feel at home anywhere else. All my friends are here; my education, my life, my points of view have little or nothing to do with my country of origin (Chile) anymore. And yet, I have never been legally able to work. I am twenty-two now, and just got a work permit because I happened to marry a US citizen. If it wasn't for that, I would still be forced to go to school, paying several times as much as my classmates, no matter where I lived or for how long I'd been there, ineligible for any kind of loan or financial aid, and prohibited from working unless I had authorization from the school, and then only on campus and part-time. After I finished school, I would have a limited time to find work in the US, otherwise I would be forced to return to a country I haven't lived in for more than ten years, a country that has nothing for me. If I did find a job in the US, my visa would restrict my working only for that one company. If I got laid off or fired, you guessed it, back to Chile it is.

I knew plenty of people who were here illegally. They worked as waiters or waitresses or some other similar low-paying jobs, got help from charitable organizations and the government when they could swing it. They lived in fear of being deported, but it never happened. I realize that for some people, leaving their country is a matter of life or death (or unbearable living conditions). I don't necessarily oppose an amnesty, but an amnesty alone for just one nationality seems woefully inadequate.  Immigration laws in this country are in dire need of a rehaul—people who try to follow the law find themselves with few if any options. I suppose it's only symptomatic of the state of things that, even to someone like me, who has a nice life here and who would have a nice (though somewhat discombobulated at first) enough life in Chile, sometimes the illegal way just seems easier.

The Talk

I was almost brought to tears when I found out about sex. I was in second grade and it was by accident—I overheard someone else's dirty joke at school. We lived in a rural area, and sure, I'd seen cows and horses going at it, but I'd never related what they were doing to how my siblings and I came to be. Oh sure, I knew that babies spent a good deal of time in the mother's tummy, and I laughed knowingly when other kids were told of cabbages and storks. Me, I knew how things were done. Parents got married and shared a bed and then decided to have children, so they prayed a lot, and next thing you knew there was something growing in mom's belly. The marrying wasn't necessary, I knew, because somewhere I had heard the expression "single mother" and asked my mom how a single woman could get pregnant.

"Well, sometimes," she told me, "if a woman is single and sleeps with a man, then she gets pregnant."

Ah. I was satisfied with this, but what if I shared a bed with my baby brother? That was different, she explained, and left it at that.

So you didn't need to be married, but you had to share a bed. Oh yes, I was wise in the ways of the world.

My first reaction when I heard the joke was shock. Well, maybe animals did it that way, but not us. Well, maybe some people. "Maybe these modern couples," I distinctly remember thinking. Not my parents. The idea sunk in, eventually. I then spent several years pretending I knew nothing of it and uncomfortably awaiting The Talk.

I recently asked a friend how his Talk had gone. He had been a young kid in school, and realized that he got a reaction when he asked where babies came from. Delighted, and much to the despair of his teacher, he started asking just about every day, until finally, distraught, the teacher called his parents and asked them to explain it to him. They walked to his room and sat on the bed with him, and then explained sex to him in what was doubtlessly a nerve-wracking experience, because they forgot to mention the vagina. For some time after this, my friend was convinced the way one became pregnant was through anal sex, and wondered what the purpose of women was. Men already had all the parts required to reproduce; women were just lacking a penis.

Time went by and my classmates started sprouting breasts. Mine had been there for years: two small lumps, looking hopelessly out of place, as if a sculptor had set down two balls of clay while she answered the phone and then completely forgotten about them. The girls and guys were segregated and shown film strips about periods and other puberty mishaps. We were given pads and propaganda by a sanitary napkin company. The girls in my class were elated when, one after the other, they all got their periods. I thought they were insane, and hoped I could get away without it until I was close to eighteen. I wasn't that lucky, but managed to be a couple of years behind nonetheless.

Even then, I never got the talk. After I started getting my period, it became clear it wasn't going to happen. I don't know if my parents decided I was smart enough to figure it out by myself by then, or if they simply put it off too much because they were embarrassed.

Years later, I nearly jumped up and gave my dad a high-five when I saw him surreptitiously putting a box of condoms in a suitcase my mom and him were taking on a weekend getaway.