I first applied for my passport about three years ago1 expecting to be denied.
That's not to say I didn't plan to ever get my passport. I just thought it was a worthless pursuit. At this point in my life, I was ready to be done "not existing" and was considering applying for a social security number.
It has started to feel like a burdensome, pointless family tradition. I didn't understand why we didn't have a number. While it made for fun conversation, I was also very bitter with where it often lead with certain, skeptical friends.
I schemed a plan to try my family's way to prove to them that it was futile work, and when I was denied I would be done with all of it and exist like a normal person.
I had neither a hopeful nor a positive attitude when I began the application process.
I was tired of not doing anything with the life God had given me. I felt the intense desire to travel, and I was done being ruled by family conspiracies (whether true or false, I didn't care). I wanted to do things with my life. I wasn't going to let family, government, or paperwork stop me.
I applied using the following documents:
Photo ID (I didn't have my driver's license yet)
Page from the family Bible
Home-made, notarized birth certificate
A few birth affidavits (our post office gave these forms to us)
Page from the IRS stating I didn't have an SSN
Letters, electric bills
School records (I only had one Amish made report card)
Newspaper clipping of my birth announcement
And the form. When it came to the line asking for a social security number, I filled it in with all 0s
A hand written letter stating I didn’t have a social security number or birth certificate due to “religious beliefs”
The guy who helped me at the post office took my photos for the passport. I remember being annoyed when he told me I couldn't smile for the photo. When I see a camera I smile. It's sacrilege to do anything else.
He said, "They want to see your natural face. No one walks through the airport smiling."
My mother said, "Keturah does."
Which was actually mostly true. When I see grouchy people I like to slap them with a smile to show to them the world doesn't have to be as awful as they make it out to be. And airports, especially TSA, are full of grouches, so I smile a lot there2.
I paid a nonrefundable $100 knowing I was throwing my money away, then applied for permission to leave my country.
I was told they couldn't just outright deny me. If they needed more information, they'd send a letter requesting specific alternative documents. I received that letter, in a very official looking white envelope. I replied, but more letters followed.
I grew to dread those envelopes over the following months. It felt like a sick game that would never end. Surprisingly, I was never asked about not having a social security number. My birth certificate was causing the most mayhem. They wanted me to prove I was in fact born in the States.
I mailed a request for vital records to the state I was born — I was of course not found since I had no state issued birth certificate. I gave them what they wanted, though, and continued to exchange letters back and forth with the Department of State. I grew more disheartened with each small white envelope. It felt like they would never be satisfied.
I also begin to hope, though. I wanted this thing to work! And because I could see it wasn’t the number that was going to cause me issues, I began to rethink my desire to just “become normal”.
After about a year I received a huge orange envelope.
Part hesitant, part excited, I opened the package to find all of my information returned . . . My passport application was denied.
I was angry.
I'd worked so hard on this for a whole year. I'd sent them everything they'd requested. There should have been another white letter if my information was insufficient. They were supposed to ask for more information before denying.
But I had no grounds to complain. They had every right to keep my money and keep me in America.
I'd learned that a social security would do me no good and that I'd still have the same issue proving that I belonged here, or deserved to be allowed to leave and return. So, in a way I was more upset than when I started our because I had no idea what to do. I felt defeated.
I waited a good year, and then feeling ready, I tried again.
I sent all the same information along with my driver's license (which I was told wouldn’t matter that much), except this time I overwhelmed them with more birth affidavits along with information about my parents.
Soon after applying I received another letter. They wanted a list of every place I'd ever lived... an actual fun project that filled nearly two pages. I've moved a lot. I returned the letter and waited for inevitable failure.
Six months later, on January 1, 2018 I received another orange package with all of my information returned.
However, this time instead of a rejection, I had my passport.
I don't remember being excited. Only relieved. And part of me wondered if they'd made a mistake and would come take the passport back! But some undocumented friends of ours were able to get their passports shortly after, too.
I immediately applied online to be an Au Pair in Germany. I was going to leave America! I'd done the impossible. And I was ready to tread this path to its utmost end.
It took nearly two years, and twice the application fee, but I'd done it. I learned a ton, and realized I wanted to know more about my undocumented privilege. I found myself agreeing more and more with my family's beliefs now that I didn’t feel so stuck and stifled. They felt more than mere traditions now — I was beginning to see faint glimmers of benefits, too.
I loved the feeling of no longer feeling isolated by my heritage, but able to embrace it as a good part of who I am. It was then that I began to think of starting this blog.
Would you have applied the second time? What is something you've learned to appreciate about your upbringing that you didn’t initially understand? How important is traveling to you? Share your thoughts with me, and share this post with others if you enjoyed it!
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2015/2016
I was allowed to smile for my first driver's license photo and once when I was flying there was this nice older guy working in TSA. He saw me with my smile and said, "Ah, I hope that's on here, too! Ah, good!"
Thoughts on travle…..For 45 years, I travelled between the Rockies and the Appalachians at least twice a year, to visit my parents in western Maryland. The first few years, those trips were via Greyhound. It worked when I was young and small, and could kind of fold up in a bus seat to sleep. Sleep deprivation was bad though. Once I rode the Green Tortoise rather than Greyhound. That took longer, but was funner. Then my earnings went up, and I started flying. I didn’t love it, but it got me there in a hurry. After 9/11, though, airport security became so tiresome that I wanted a different way to get from Montana to Maryland. And I discovered Amtrak. I had to drive nearly to the Canadian border to get the train, but even that drive was pleasurable. Even riding coach, it was way better than Greyhound: the chairs recline, like a great La-z-boy. But then I discovered the sleeper! Now that was a fun way to get across country, arrive in rested fashion, and enjoy things along the way. We took to exploring in downtown Chicago when we had to change trains there. Sometimes I went alone, sometimes my husband, or a friend, went with me. One time my husband, his 78-year-old widowed mother, and her 85-year-old widowed sister, made the trip with me…..that was about the funnest two weeks I’ve ever had, enjoying those dear ladies having such a wonderful time on our Geriatric Tour!
But overall, I don’t like to travel very much these days. At this point in my life, it’s a hassle, and I’d just as soon stay home. Travel requires energy, and I have less of that then I did half a lifetime ago. Also, it requires constant decision-making. For me, stability is a blessing: ‘boring’ is my favorite adjective! And rootlessness is disconcerting. I am Bilbo.