Recycling and little lawn chairs

Instead of putting recycled items in a red bin on the curb every week, Kate and I decided to save that whopping $5 per month and drive the stuff down the road to the community recycling Dumpsters next to Weiland's. This seemed like a good idea for a few reasons, one of which is that somehow these items turn into money for the community (supposedly). The downside is, our porch routinely piles up with cardboard boxes, bottles, cans, newspapers and the like. In fact, we frequently refer to this screened side porch as the "trash porch," whereas the previous owners probably called it their "breakfast nook."

So tonight, after wading through the pile and loading it into the car, I made the biweekly (or sometimes triweekly) trip to the green bins. When I arrived I saw some people around the containers, and I assumed it was other locals recycling at 11 pm on the Fourth of July, or maybe some kids messing around. When I began unloading the items, I instead saw an immigrant family. There was a mom, dad, young boy and an even younger little girl, probably 3 or so. Instead of unloading items, they were sorting and gathering whatever they could that might bring in some money. Even the toddler, wearing a see-through turquoise backpack with a doll inside, was doing her part. She had her own tiny lawn chair where she sat with a pile of soda and beer cans, doing her best to crush them with her miniature hands. The boy looked through the Sunday newspaper circulars, seemingly attempting to avoid the entire situation. Meanwhile, the mother aggressively rooted through the bin from inside the Dumpster. I said hello to the father, but he remained silent and looked at me with a look that knows no language barrier: shame.

I don't know much about the immigration bill, and I don't know what the best tack is for keeping aliens, illegal or otherwise, out of poverty. I just felt a mix of emotions when I saw this family--sad for their plight, guilty for not knowing how to help or what to do, and, admittedly, grateful for all the ways God has blessed my own family.

But mostly, in that brief encounter, I was thankful for blissful ignorance--not for myself, and not for people who don't know this goes on, but for the little girl. I'm glad she enjoyed sorting and crushing those cans, and that she had no idea that lots of other girls don't have to do such things. For now, it's just another night that she gets to take her little chair outside and bring her doll. Here's hoping and praying that by the time she understands what those bins are, she'll no longer be taking trash out of these Dumpsters, and she won't remember her mother inside of one.