Style, Poise, And Grace

For one heartfelt, shining, fullfilling moment there was no sight or thought of millions of half-naked, dirty, hungry, diseased, illiterate, bulging bellied, empty-eyed beggers coming to us on the screen; there was no barbaric whooping hollering of multitudes of rag-tag natives slapping native drums, thrusting Stone Aged spears and clubs and flat, bare, dirty feet at the sky as they turned flips celebrating who knows what or what anybody but they themselves cared about.

No where were there scenes of apolitical, unruly hordes racing, walking -- hungry and dying of thirst -- crossing a blistering hot desert to climb a dauntingly high foreboding wooden fence to escape into the United States from the social struggle in  their countries; no scenes of tunnels discovered where they crawled beneath the frontier that separated them from cheap-labor jobs in the United States, leaving their people struggling alone to change their jobless, corrupt, narcotrafficking societies.

Their were no smoking, burning, bleeding bodies of men, women, and children weeping and staggering and dying in war-torn, smoldering streets with bombed-out houses, mosques, cars and buses and trains by angry, hate-filled terrorists.

For one heartfelt, shining, fullfilling, peaceful moment on this earth, millions of us throughout the world had our eyes, mind, and heart anticipating the opening of two doors at a hospital in England to introduce to the world a man and a woman with a newborn child, a child king, innocent and pure; and the doors opened and the man and woman stepped out with the child wrapped in small blankets, and they did it with style, smooth smiles, and poise and grace befitting the culture of their race.