I am not meant or designed to take on weighty issues. I look at the problems of today and see that there are often no good answers and it makes me glad I’m not in charge. Immigration reform is one such conundrum. On the one hand, if we stop immigration, we cease to be the great melting pot our forefathers intended and refugees aren’t given the assistance they need to survive. On the other, we have to ensure the safety of our country by making sure we don’t let bad guys in. It’s a real problem.

I liken it to Italian food. At some point in my adult life, I realized I had developed an aversion to garlic. It took some trial and error, but we identified garlic as the culprit after dinner at a cheap Italian place one night. You know the kind – not quite good enough to have authentic flavor so they drown everything in garlic. My malady became quite evident when I yelled for the check and ran awkwardly out the door.

Garlic doesn’t make me break out in hives or give me breathing issues – it’s more of an internal combustion problem. Lovely, yeah. But that is precisely why it reminds me of immigration reform – a real $&*!-storm.

Over the years, the Italian assault on me seems to have greatly lessened. I might have a bad reaction to maybe 1 in every 5 meals or so and we never know when it will happen. It seems to be completely random – my vetting process doesn’t seem to prevent the occasional bad Italian from getting through. This situation with garlic has literally become a crapshoot. I pick up a piece of garlic bread and laugh maniacally as my family shudders in fear.

But here’s the rub – I love Italian food. My life would be poorer if I completely cut pastas and rich sauces out of it. I, however, am the gatekeeper and this is an awesome responsibility. I am the one making policy decisions in regards to my Italian intake. I am the government and the people, my family, sometimes pays for my granting asylum to the bad Italian who somehow bypasses the systematic checks and balances. They would advocate building a wall.

So you see, there is no good answer.

In the end, as a country with great resource, I think we have to err on the side of compassion – whether we help people get here or help them survive where they are, I believe we must help. This stamp of complete geographical exclusion seems wrong to me.

But who am I? I’m just another guy airing out factless opinion on the internet. I am fake news. I’m one fart joke away from being Bevis and Butthead.

I do like Italian food, though. And if it means an uncomfortable night on the couch, so be it.