The squirrel question

This will be my last post about our trip to the U.S. Pretty soon I'll get back to writing about my cultural faux pas, or whatever you call them in German.

Our friends Luke and Jackie hosted a barbecue one evening at their Saint Paul home. They invited a bunch of staff from Como Park High School, so that everyone could pay their respects to us all at once. Among the guests was Mark Ross, Saint Paul police officer and friend of ours. For the past couple of years he has been assigned as the school resource officer for Como Park. (Europeans are stunned when I tell them that some American high schools have cops). But in the summers, Mark is back on patrol.

He told us the story of driving around in the neighborhood not far from ours, but far enough that the homes are really fancy. On a street with beautiful lawns and big houses, he saw three teenage boys wearing what he called the "just got to America" outfit: flip flops, ripped up shorts, ratty t-shirt. He knew right away that these kids were Kareni*.

*Informative side note: The Karen people are a minority ethnic group in Burma (Myanmar), and are killed and forced into labor by the military regime. Many have fled to refugee camps in Thailand and a large group of them has been resettled in Saint Paul, MN. The Twin Cities are been home to many refugee groups, including the Hmong (from Laos), the Oromo (from Ethiopia), Somalis, Cambodians, Liberians, Eastern Europeans and others. Brian played a little soccer with these kids when we were in town and he got schooled.

So Officer Ross sees these kids walking around in a backyard that is obviously not theirs, in a neighborhood where they don't belong, and he spots another squad car parked down the street. Cop #2 tells officer Ross that one of the neighbors called in because she saw these shabbily-clad teenagers and thought they might try to break into her car. That did not appear to be their plan, since they were paying more attention to the trees and bushes than to the street. The two cops approached the three kids, threw handcuffs on them (this is the point in the story where I question whether handcuffs were necessary), and started to go through their bags. One of the kids had a backpack, and inside it were three plastic bags. The first bag was empty. The second bag was empty. The third bag... half-dead squirrel!. Mark Ross looks just how you might picture him - stocky, tough-looking, ready to face bad guys. He screamed like a six year old girl at the sight of this critter twitching in the bag. Then the two cops go look in the Kareni kids' car. They open the trunk and find a few other bags. In one is a collection of carefully polished and rounded stones. In another is some rubber tubing. The rest of the bags are empty until... Half dead squirrel!  This is when two of Saint Paul's finest scream like a monster jumped out from under the bed and hope the neighbors didn't hear.

At this point in the story I ask Mark Ross, "So what's the penalty for squirrel hunting in the City of Saint Paul?"
He responds, "If it's me that catches you, it's go home and enjoy your lunch."
I also asked if the kids were scared to be wearing handcuffs. He said no - that was pretty common where they grew up.

The cops told the kids that it's ok to hunt squirrels with a slingshot, but it's not ok to do it in peoples' yards in broad daylight. A city park or some other wooded area would be a lot better. The boys may or may not have understood. They may have nodded after understanding about 30%, as I often do in Germany.

So what did the Kareni kid with a half-dead squirrel write on his blog when he went home? (Just 'cause he wears a ratty t-shirt doesn't mean he can't have a smart phone. I have a dumb phone and a laptop and am way behind the times). Maybe something like 'you wouldn't believe what happened to me when I was out catching food today... What's wrong with these people who don't eat their squirrels?"

The lesson of this story for me is this: There are cultures where you put squirrels in the zoo, there are cultures where you tolerate them and shoo them away from your flowers, and there are cultures where you take them home and eat them for lunch.

There is one common thread, however. In all of these cultures it's funny to see a big tough police officer scream like a little girl.