Forty years ago, I took the bus from Salt Lake City to Buenos Aires, Argentina. It took three months and I saw tens-of-thousands of roadside crosses.
At different times they drew out the emotions of curiosity, sadness at someone’s loss and alarm when the bus driver steered us over narrow mountain roads for eighteen-hours.
I love Latin culture. I’ve been to Mexico and Central America many times and speak a little Spanish and I find it ironic the people most opposed to immigrants are now adopting the signature Latin custom of putting up crosses at the side of the road.
This was never a practice in the America of the 1950s and 60s.
How about crosses for firefighters or crosses where fatal crashes occurred?
My father died when I was 15 and I learned you have to let go of the dead — keep their sacred memory in your mind and heart but not in the forefront for everyone all the time.
Some of those fallen heroes would not even want a cross set up in their honor.
Please, keep the crosses on churches and in cemeteries where they belong.