The Naturalized: Part I

Fri Oct 28, 01:12 PM by

First of all, I don’t remember why my family and I decided to enter the naturalization process and become, “under God,” US citizens. Why, after 14 happy greencard carrying years, did we feel the need to upgrade? After all, am I really going to vote “no” on prop 2,475? Can I come up come with enough excuses to dodge jury duty? I was happy being a crooked teeth limey. I was the Brit and you weren’t. I lost the Revolutionary War and you didn’t. You saved my ass in WWI and WWII while I lost the Battle of 1812. I started the industrial revolution and you profited the most from it. I’ve won the World Cup and you don’t care – you have the ‘World’ Series. I knew about The Office before you and then you copied it. Badly. But okay, there was a reason to become a Yankee. I was a threat.

That’s right. I went to college in England. Doesn’t seem scary does it? Well it is. If you spend more than let’s say 3 months outside of the US and then return to the country with ONLY a greencard, expect to raise a few eyebrows. Hell, expect to raise a few voices. And yes, I had a shouting match with an INS employee (who I imagine now is a still bitter Homeland Security employee). Apparently, a few months off shore turns you into a security threat. They’ll put the fear on. They’ll tell you’re being watched. They might say you’re on suspension. But don’t worry, they’ll still let you through customs.

“Where have you been?” “It’s in the north of what?” “The UK?” “Studying what?” “Economics?” “Is this you in the picture?” “Why is your hair blond in reality but brown in the photo?” “Are you really 5’9”?” “What’s your Final Four prediction?” “You really think Duke has the goods?” “What goods are in your luggage?” “Is this information correct?” “Where’s the ticket for your return flight?” “What do you mean you’re ‘sticking around?’” “Do you think the government has a sense of humo(u)r, son?” “Do you know you look kinda like the guy from That 70’s Show?”

I was still shouting and being shouted at as I walked to collect my luggage. (The upside of the event was that by being delayed, my bags had ample time to make their way to the conveyor belt. Hurrah for persecution!) I love a good fight so long as it’s verbal. The adrenaline was pumping until a man, an American from my flight, approached me. “Oh shit” I thought “he’s going to scold me.” He didn’t! He called them “bastards!” Rejoice, rejoice! A victory I thought. Or so I thought. My parents did the scolding instead. They weren’t impressed when I gave my account with big bright eyes and songs of freedom. New strategy. They were even less impressed when I gave my account with nervous hands and cries of victimization. “You could’ve been arrested” was the theme of the ride home. And we all know parents listen to traffic on the radio so it ranked as one of the worst car rides of my life.

It was time for that final step. A quantum leap if you will. I went to the INS website and I started to read. I was like a bookworm frothing at the mouth with after hours access to the New York City Library. I scanned page after page and downloaded this form and that form and filled out boxes galore as I met one requirement, two requirements…ninety-nine requirements and oh shit, there’s a problem here. Guess what? You can live in the USofA for over a decade but spend a day over 2.5 years of the last 5 outside of the country and consider yourself the Queen of Sheba on her wedding night. That’s right, I was royally fucked. I know what irony is. Do I need to explain it to you?¹ Okay, I won’t.

I’d spent hours figuring out the dates I was outside of the US, struggled many minutes to fill out the form and anguished over the seconds it took to fill out the check, but it was all for nothing. All that time wasted. My dad was on the phone to the lawyers. It should be fine they said. It’s only a matter of days they said. Let’s apply anyway they said. I had my reservations but I’ve also seen Law and Order a lot and when you have a lawyer on retainer things start to happen for you. I was going to bat with McCoy.² Okay, her name wasn’t McCoy but for these purposes we’ll call her McCoy. McCoy got the ball rolling. The next thing I knew a letter came through my letterbox. The process was underway. The government wanted my fingerprints.

¹ Just in case you don’t get it, the reason I was applying for citizenship was to avoid hassle for being out of the country for so long but that lifestyle choice was now preventing me from obtaining citizenship. It’s a vicious cycle. Or is it vicious circle? Same difference.
² If you’re unaware, Jack McCoy is the ADA in Law and Order. You should watch more TV. Idiot.

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