Mr. Obama's Dream Isn't Dreamy to Mainstream Americans

In the last few days it has been apparent that this is an election year, and the political landscape is getting more and more slippery by the minute.

The latest news on the election front is the announcement by Mr. Obama that his stance on illegal immigrant enforcement activites will take a more compassionate view. He is a dreamer, and the Dream Act is once again being milked for those crucial foreign votes.

The sins of the fathers are not to be used against the children of foreigners who entered this country illegally, without going through the immigration process as set forth by Congress. Mr. Obama has mandated through another Executive Order that Congress has no authority in this matter, only the president does.

Where in the Constitution that power is accorded the president has escaped me, although I have read it through several times (it is a rather short document, after all, unlike the immigration provisions, or any other Act of Congress this past century, at least.

It is important, after all, to garner those foreign votes.

The will and positions of Americans on this contentious issue, especially in this current economy, does not bear consideration.

As one who formerly grew up and lived in a border state, and has been repeatedly victimized by the policies of Washington on this issue and my state of residence on several occasions within the past twenty years, makes such a position rather hard to swallow.

As it appears is also the case with many other Americans, whether border state residents, victims or not.

I was even victimized once again in a non-border Western state, by the current economic conditions irrespective of the border issue.

After having left my home state of Arizona in early 2007 after the National Guard had been called out in order to secure Arizona's borders, and also a victim of the mortgage mess and crisis in the Western states particularly, I eventually ended up in another Western state after having to move from a Southern state where I had extended family after one of the major hurricanes for health reasons.

It took me approximately seven or eight months to be able to regain my health, during which time I was living in weekly rental rooms, which was all that I could afford due to the ramifications of my exit from Arizona and expenses thereafter in subsequent moves, medical expenses, and costs of gasoline and related expenses.

When I was well enough, I attempted to seek work in a busting economy in my former field of experience and expertise - leisure travel and tourism (an industry which pretty much was wiped out after 9-11, and all those TSA regulations and requirements which have turned many Americans against traveling very far for their recreation, if they could afford it).

During this time I ran through my savings (the equity I had gotten out of my home due to a forced move, a home I had lived in for over 12 years which was originally on a 15 year note, for which I had in those 12 years paid for twice with the interest) and three months "emergency" stash.

Eventually, I found it necessary to apply for food stamps in order to get food. A position that in my wildest dreams I never hoped to find myself.

I walked into the state offices (this is a federal program, but administered by the states) to pick up my application.

On the television in the office there was a video of the Disney movie, Jungle Book.

And the song, "The Bare Necessities" was playing on a loop over and over again.

I guess this is an example of the federal (or state) government's sense of humor.

Or maybe it was for the children of those food stamp recipients in order to discourage their children from asking for an I-phone for their next Christmas gift. You know, the ones which are advertised on the television around Christmas time to hook those kids into begging for the latest technology.

The office was crowded, although the applications were lying on a table so I didn't have to wait in line.

I looked it over.

The first page astounded me.

While as an American I was to provide documentation of my income, residency status (although a federal program), social security number, expenses and the like, it was stressed in bold letters that no proof of citizenship was required nor social security number for foreigners.

My benefits were cut off after one month due to the fact that my paperwork wasn't in order, and I was accused by one of the government officials when I went to the office again of not returning their call when they called to obtain further information. Rather loudly, I might add.

All representatives at the offices were minority race employees, and I would have to say that as a white, older American woman my application was reviewed far more closely than that of any of the minority members seeking assistance, although my case worker was a minority member and was very cordial and later apologized privately for the mix up.

But in the end it really didn't matter.

Within a month or two of receiving my card, I ran out of cream for my coffee one morning so decided to walk to the corner store since it was snowing out that morning.

I got on my boots, gloves and coat (and for a former desert dweller this was a lengthy process) and headed out to the store.

My weekly rental was on a rather busy street, so although not living in one of the "nicer" areas in this metro community, a community where walking and biking are promoted as a benefit of living there, it was just a short walk and wasn't really all that cold outside.

I hadn't gone more than a few blocks when I noticed one of those portable taco stands parked in a vacant lot, with three young men standing outside the little mobile home/restaurant.

I started walking past the cart when one of the young men stepped in front of me and asked if I had a few dollars to spare so that he could get something to eat.

I said, no I really didn't since I myself found I needed food stamps and only had about six dollars in cash with me anyway.

With that, he grabbed my purse. I grabbed back. The strap broke, and he was off across the vacant field.

At that moment in my life, if it hadn't been snowing, and I hadn't been over fifty, I would have taken off across that field to get my purse since it had all my identification, including my needed social security card in it, my children's pictures, and my food stamp card.

I don't think the Dream Act is what America needs.

How many more tens of thousands of those kids will also be looking for work when they graduate from those state colleges, and also cannot find adequate employment in addition to the literally millions of generational Americans now in that position?

Dream on, Mr. Obama.