After high school, I enlisted the United States Navy. I wanted to serve my country. Make my family proud. It wasn't until I returned that I realized---the more I witnessed, the less I agreed. I had just come back from one country arguing about which group was better how they would reign supreme, only to be escorted back to the same thing in a different language.

"Don't let the terrorists win!"

"If we let them in, they will take over!"

They're not cockroaches.

The apples may not fall very far from the tree, where they will then be collected in buckets and sorted, good from bad. But one can remove the bad apples and still make decent pie.

Guilty by association.

'Sins of the father reflect on the son' and all that jazz.

One misguided group isn't the country.

Does the sixth amendment mean nothing?

Would you persecute every dog you come across because a wild one bit you?

"Foreigners are ruining our country!"

Here's an idea-- let them. It quite possibly may be the damnation we need.

The only reason they have the opportunity is because we think we are too good for certain manual labors.

That we are above harvesting potatoes--like my father did--or mopping floors. Hell, in some cases, these people-the ones you say are ruining our country- are the ones sorting the apples in the buckets, the good from the bad, so you can make the pie!

They may not speak your language, but have you tried to speak theirs? No.

That requires too much effort.

Take a trip to their home, see how you feel then.

Being an outsider, pay special attention to how the treat you. How they. Judge. You.

We want the fairytale, the happy existence.

Mother Goose and Disney.

Reality is a bit more... Brothers Grimm.

The real story of Pocahontas.

How Stepmother really tried to get her daughters' feet into Cinderella's glass slipper.

The frightening truth about Rumpelstiltskin.

We are all familiar with the Lee-Kirby rendition of Thor getting sent to earth, yes?

Well here's a fable for you, and I'll even water it down:

Once upon a time--a decade and a half ago, a young family was sitting down for a Wednesday night dinner when they became victims of a violent home invasion-- For the third time that week.

The invasion was so bad that they decided to take refuge in a "friendlier" place.

They left Herat to find such a place and ended up accepting an invitation.

They were invited to come to this free land, where they no longer had to worry about their house being violated every night.

Of course, what the invitation left out was the other injustices.

See, it was a new year, 2003. What this family didn't know was that they would be murdered one day in this new world because we were still sore about something "their people" did a few Septembers ago—

As if they are responsible for every person of their culture.

See, we looked at their skin, their religion, their mother tongue, and we judged.

We didn’t like that the woman covered her face and wore loose floor length clothing.

Because it isn’t how we do things.

We told them they were no good, that they are beneath us.

That they should just pack up and leave. They prayed to their God, (just as you would) to find the strength to cope in this new territory.

Their prayers were answered one day when their son walked to the school that only just acknowledges him.

The Afghani boy who barely speaks your language is automatically deemed not worthy.

What we don't care to know, is his story, that his family had to flee their country because of the constant fear of losing it all.

A war-torn nation. They came here for a safe haven, only to be subservient to a different type of war.

That little boy from Afghanistan, just 8 years old, that we so quickly discarded, found the God's hammer.

He picked it up and thrust Mjölnir in to the air, collecting the lightning, only to snap it to the ground--- knocking us all down to the level we deserve.

"Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor."

So, tell me, are we really the land of the free, or are we just slaves to our own society?