The American Spectator

“Yeah, well they shouldn’t think they can come over here and take whatever they want,” said Jared, warming to the confrontation.

“Well, good luck with whatever it is you’re doing,” said the woman, casting a withering glance at Newman and walking away. “Carry on.”

“Geez,” said Darien. “I’ll bet she doesn’t have a Chinese daughter.”

“Mr. Newman, how come people don’t care about these things?”

“I don’t know, Jared. They’re all wrapped up in their own concerns. I don’t think this whole thing has quite sunk in with people yet.”

“Excuse me,” said another young woman approaching the table. “Is this something about the Boy Scouts?” She had hair cropped to within an inch of her head with a purple streak down the middle. At either side she held the hand of a Mexican boy, one a little older than the other. She was just of the age where women who eschewed childbirth started adopting, thought Newman. They were eligible for disability as well.

“Yes it is, ma’am,” he responded. “We’re asking people to sign petitions against sending the adopted girls back to China.”

“But I thought the Boy Scouts were illegal,” said the young woman.

“The ACLU had the Boy Scouts labeled a hate group in 2055,” Newman began the ritual explanation. “They have since been subsumed under the Mormon Church and are protected by freedom of religion. We engage in traditional activities and are open to boys of all races, creeds and colors.”

The woman looked concerned. “Wasn’t there a Mormon who ran for President once?”

“That was many years ago,” said Newman. “He didn’t win.”

“Well, what do you do with these boys,” she asked, feeling her way into unknown territory.

“We meet every Friday in the Mormon Temple. We go on hikes. We go camping. We visit museums and historic places. And we do community service projects like this one.”

Jose had edged toward the front and whispered something in Spanish to the two boys. The one on the left snapped something back at him. Newman looked over and the boy glared at him with unremitted hostility. He had never seen such a baleful look in anyone so young.

“There’s just one thing I want to know,” said the woman, fingering a gold stud protruding from her left cheek. “You don’t make them do anything”… she reached for a word… “patriotic, do you?”