My mother earth kidzz, son Pete and daughter Sue, mocked me the other day when we were having a barbecue on the beach. Their earthly Mom, Kathryn, just sat by and smiled beautifully.

“You’re lucky you can change into a human skin,” Pete said. “You’d be picked up right away in your Mars costume.”

“You are lucky you’re born with a human skin and look like your earthly mother,” I retorted, “otherwise you’d be picked up right away yourself.”

“We didn’t choose to live here, you made us do that,” Pete said, a bit touchy.

“Anything wrong with that? You got a US passport,” I said in my defense.

“Just that our eyes look different. A bit like those Asians here,” Pete said, sounding wary.

“So what? You did MIT and Sue did Columbia Law and both of you live well. What are you picking at?”

“We always get looked at more carefully,” Sue entered the conversation, “either at the border or when boarding a plane. Yesterday when coming home, they put me through the scanner and all the alarm bells went off.”

“Did they find anything?” I asked, laughing.

“The woman at the scan fainted.”

“What for?” I couldn’t stop laughing.

“She said she didn’t see a body.”

“Well, maybe the machine’s fuse was busted.”

“No dad, there’s nothing on the screen when they scan us.”

“So, what did they do?” I asked, curious, still snickering.

“They sent another woman do a special on me, crotch included.”

“You liked it?” Pete asked, grinning mischievously.

“You shut up,” Sue hissed back. “It’s not funny. You do any profiling on Mars?”

“We all look alike,” I said, “and talk the same, electronic voices. Men have a funny pecker, women have a tight slit. That’s all there is.”

“Yeah, that’s the earthy problem here,” Pete said profoundly. “Different skins, eyes, noses. And some of those are bad news.”

“Would you profile on Mars if you had that problem?” Sue asked.

“Sure we would. Nobody enters Mars without an identity card and a sanity check, especially people from earth.”

“What would you do in Arizona?” Sue looked me straight in the eye.

“It’s a nice place. Dry and clean with remote places to land. Done it several times. I look like an Arizonan when I change and I have a US visa stamp in my passport. No problem. I’d do the same thing as they, profile like hell. What else can you do to stop those gate crashers?”

“They say on earth profiling is wrong, it’s racist.” Pete commented.

“So what?” I said. “A gate crasher is a gate crasher. We’d throw the bums out and let them float back into space. And if I know how most of them look, I’ll be looking for them hard and round them up if they can’t show their papers. What would you do at home? Invite them for dinner?”

“Everything is racist in America, or wherever in the world” Kathryn said.

“And those who cry racist are the worst,” Sue said.

“Here it started with the Indians,” Kathryn continued, “and it has only gotten worse. But look at Africa or Arabia, they are much worse than the USA.”

“Ever heard of the word PC?” Sue asked. “Politically correct; the synonym of hypocrisy and cowardice. Hate those people.”

“What would you do on Mars with all these different cultures?” Pete looked at me curiously.

“Multiculturalism’s what he means,” Kathryn explained.

“Oh, I don’t mind different cultures, colors, faces or languages,” I said. “We don’t have that on Mars and that makes our place a bit dull. Different music, art, dance and songs, I like to hear that when I’m here. It would be better if everyone stayed where they belong, but that has not happened for millions of years on this planet. But if you want to enter my territory, you need a valid identity card, or you get the hell out. That’s why I stand for Arizona, not the soft-pedaling US Government. What do they want, Babylon and a ruined bank account?”

“Do you agree, mom?” Sue asked.

“Who wouldn’t agree with the Mars Man?” Kathryn laughed.

“I do,” Sue said, “but I still need my hispanic Anita  to clean my apartment. No one else does, and surely not me.”

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