* * *
Yesterday at CFS I mostly sat. The immigration office teems with a patchwork of humanity, a microcosm. Though I am not allowed to discuss individual cases, I can say the few folders I double-check fascinate me. A father who left his small son with relatives in Iran. A father who wants the proper papers for his two young adult daughters from Ethiopia.
I listen as V asks a young man why he wants to go to Boston when he has not finished his paperwork. She tells him jobs there are scarce. She finally makes copies of the paperwork he has completed. As he leaves, she tells him to check with Catholic Services in Boston. Yeah, right.
Did I tell you the volunteer (me) has her own office? Yep. And it offers a scenic view of the parking spaces in front of the building and the street. I sit for a bit and watch people come and go. A woman leaves carrying several plastic bags and a gallon of something I suspect is bleach. CFS offers groceries to those who need help.
A policeman stands in the shade of a tree. Another, older cop pulls up. The two stand for a few minutes while the younger one explains something. His arms flail about as he talks. The pair then head into the building.
A couple of twenty-ish women with their sweatshirts tied around their waists and sipping large drinks head for the inside. Their pace indicates purpose.
A youngish man carrying a plastic bag emerges from the building. He walks across the street, stops and lights a cigarette. Another man walks up, gets a light, and walks on.
The director of the immigration branch of CFS comes in to introduce himself. He tells me V speaks well of me and my ability.
Across the street, behind a extra tall stockade fence, the Mondrian-like playground equipment stands out. The area behind the fence represents the truly Christian work of the founder of CityChurch. (More on him and his mission another time.) Also behind the fence stands a monolithic structure which rises more than three stories. Made of wood, the tower narrows toward its top.
V tells me next week she will be less busy and can show me more. She leaves a stack of folders on my desk, saying to go when I am finished. The offices empty for lunch. I hear someone making copies. I tidy the desk. As I depart, I meet a young man who tells me he intreprets for CFS. He flashes me a winning smile. That gives me a light heart.
* * *
Your bro and I had a great talk yesterday. I gain more and more respect for him. I see a similar heart in him. Walking in your shadow takes lots of moxie. I am glad I got to know some of your real world. Nesting dolls come to mind, only an endless number.* * *
Go Bruins! Your dad misses you most right now. Add my name to that list, too.Later.
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