The Feds

Just back from Montréal. It was Koby's first trip out of the US, and Dennis's first time out since we arrived in America July 2001! We had a wonderful time in the city, and are hoping to return this fall.

Fortunately I was able to get my new passport in time to make this, and several other upcoming trips. This passport is called an "also-known-as" passport. It has my old name as the "real" name in the front with my picture. Then on the very last page it has, in computerized type, the sentence: "The bearer is also known as Christopher Lee Wenger Sol Cruz."

The federal government had rejected my regular application for a new passport with name change, citing verbage from the Defense of Marriage Act. They said that they don't recognize my marriage in MA as a viable reason for having my passport name changed, and I was given two options: (1) have my name changed by court decree (this takes 3-6 months and costs $165), or (2) show evidence that I have been using my new name for FIVE YEARS. Egad.

Fortunately the GLAD website had information about others in my predicament, and suggested I try to get this AKA passport. So after weeks of calling to get an appointment at the Boston Passport Agency, 3 visits to said office, and countless hours of waiting in line, I have my shiny new passport. If I have any trouble using it beyond the simple drive over the Canadian-US border, I may have to do the whole probate-court-name-change thing and start over.

Alas, as we were driving back from Montréal last Sunday, the passports were the least of our problems. It's funny how going into Canada things were "Oh, you're going to Montréal for Divers/Cité? Great." But coming back to the land of the "free," our border agent looked in the car and demanded, "Passports." This was quickly followed by a blunt, "Where Mom?"

Not expecting this kind of question, and at first not even realizing what the agent was asking, Dennis and I looked at each other stunned. Then, the penny dropped.

"Oh," we said, smiling, "two Dads--no Mom." To this, the agent simply replied "Oh." Then he passed our documents back, and we were on our way.

Exactly what prompted this man to ask this question, I can't be sure. But to say that it annoyed and slightly enraged me is an understatement. Luckily Koby is at an age where he didn't really pick up on the whole situation. Maybe I'm just overly sensitive that he's going to wonder where his birthmother is sometime soon. But I still don't understand why this question was appropriate for an immigration officer to ask.

Then again, they are the gods, and we must simply jump at their command. One thing I know is that you NEVER talk back to an border agent.

Sure, it was an isolated incident, but I have to say that on a trip to Canada where I was already awash with fantasies of relocating to a place that builds its societal values on tolerance and respect, rather than money and fear, it made my shiny new passport sudden seem very ragged.