Finally Legal

I don't remember the first time we filed the paperwork. I just remember how I would have to cross my fingers a couple of times to ensure that the printer worked, the dutiful checking and re-checking of which documents we were supposed to print off and send, and the frustrations of having to stop into Walgreens a few times because we forgot to make an extra copy of this statement or that form.

I remember how tightly Mom clutched the money order as she made her way back to the car. She double-checked the amount with me at the teller window. "A thousand how much, moro?" "A thousand ten, Mom." I told her to wait just a moment. I punched the digits one more time on the calculator. "Yeah," I said, "a thousand ten. That should cover everything."

Mom asked me to write on the application because my handwriting is neater and she struggles a little bit with her spelling. I get home roughly twice a year, and each time I returned, we had to devote a free afternoon or an evening to the paperwork. We checked the forms one last time, sealed them up, then checked which distribution center we had to send the package. First, it was Texas; then, it was Illinois.

Whenever a big bulky envelope seemingly chewed up at the corners would come in, we sighed heavily. But before that, Mom swore up and down that if our money order came missing, we just had to sue somebody, even if we didn't know who jacked it. Someone was to blame. We were just following the steps, or so we thought. After the second or third return, the fight to make my stepdad a legal citizen seemed a rather lost cause. In our moments of deep frustration, we began to sympathize with people who sneak over the border illegally. Never mind the language barrier. Let it be said here, flat out and as plain as I can, this country talks a big game about taking the proper measures to become a legal citizen but consistently fails to smooth-line the process.

Even if we did things properly the first time, the United States Citizenship and Immigration Service claims that, due to back-ups in the system, a correctly filed claim can take as long as twelve to eighteen months to resolve. In our case, we had trivial errors that were caught after two to three months had elapsed. We would correct the errors and re-submit, only to be told that the forms were now dated and that the ones we sent in were modified, thus necessitating another download, another day at the copy place, another day of sanity lost.

In the meantime, the sponsoring household member (usually the spouse) has the undue burden of supporting self, spouse, and children while the petitioning citizen has little to do at home. Citizenship is also very expensive, and it doesn't end at the thousand plus dollars of form-filing. We eventually wised up and got an immigration lawyer's assistance; that too cost several hundred dollars. But the real slap in the face was that those few extra hundred dollars resulted in majorly reduced turnaround time. Thus, citizenship is certainly no do-it-yourself process. It requires -- no, demands -- access to legal assistance from the very onset. For us, that meant periodic drives to Louisville and scheduling additional days off. My mother is among the high percentage of women occupying female-dominant service-sector job -- she works the early day shift in a child care facility -- and even at a boosted minimum-wage, a day's loss of work equals falling behind on a bill.

The lawyer got involved. He, through the grapevine, complimented my handwriting and said that I should become a lawyer. Mom laughed: "My baby," she said, "is gonna be a doctor." (You have to love her. She got it partially right, and she says that she brags on me anyway even though she doesn't exactly understand what I do. I hug her. I'll be a professor someday.)

Mom called me yesterday afternoon. She was on her way back home to attend a late dentist appointment, and she said that the interviews went fine. Dad's got a green card. Apparently, they have to file for it again in a couple of years because they haven't been married long enough, and they have to pay a few hundred dollars at that time. But he's good to go for now.

They exhausted all of their savings getting here a few years ago. He supported her while they lived abroad, and he sold off his possessions to fly back out here. Mom just wanted to get back home. She wanted her hometown and her family friends and her quiet life in her quiet town, and she beamed when they moved into their starter home. To do so would require her to exhaust her savings too, and like many American families, they live month to month, check to check, hoping that the car won't break down too soon or that the unforeseen can be held at bay just long enough. My dad is living the American dream -- of wishing for better opportunities and success while being grounded in a subsistence situation.

Still, I'm happy for them. It is an immense burden being lifted from their shoulders. Mom said that Dad might go back on the road for work for a while. California, perhaps? We shall see.