Every ten years it happens. Every ten years the process must occur. Unlike those many times past, this time the process was difficult.
One would think renewing a passport to be a simple procedure. Obtain the proper papers, have a new photo taken, then send everything, including my current passport, to the appropriate governmental agency. Easy stuff, one would think, simple enough. This time, however, an unexpected element appeared. This time, as I sat at the table putting my completed package together, emotion crept in. "Crept" may be much too subtle a descriptor .. "Charged" may well be more accurate. As I touched my passport prior to placing it into the envelope, past years of travel memories staggered me.
I won't bore you with personal travel stories here, that's not the point of this writing. What I do wish to convey is the intense feeling of panic which rushed through me immediately after delivering my passport and accompanying paperwork to our post office. The thought of not having my document renewed for any reason struck me like a lightning bolt. The notion I could actually be restricted to my own country or repelled by another country, based solely on a diminutive travel booklet, left me shuddering.
Factually, the process is easy. It certainly doesn't take a rocket scientist to answer the straightforward questions posed on the renewal application. All the usual personal stuff like age, height, weight, color of eyes, color of hair, etc. etc. are automatic responses for morally straight and honest people. I suggest the most difficult part of the procedure is driving to whatever photo shop you've selected in order to obtain the current regulation size passport photo for inclusion in your packet. We've all gone through similar procedures our entire lives. Every one of us has given countless applications for jobs, drivers licenses, rental applications, and the list goes on and on. Except for our address and weight, most of the descriptions remain accurate for our lifetimes. It is nearly an automatic response system we utilize for filling out questionnaires.
I took my envelope to the post office and returned home. On our beautiful mango table, where I put together my application packet, were three passport sized photos. The photo shop had taken four pictures and one was now in the mail, headed to the governmental agency folks who now hold my travel life within their powerful jurisdiction. I picked up the photos and looked at myself .. my "self" who is now ten years older than that guy pictured on my last passport .. "Sonofabitch!"
I rushed to the post office, but the mail had already been picked up and my envelope was gone. I was too late. The ladies behind the counter got a good laugh at my expense when I related the reason for wanting to retrieve my application. They seemed to think everything would work out alright. I, on the other hand, continue to live in a paranoid state, hoping some kindhearted, understanding being at the "passport place" will overlook the late realization of this man .. this man who ten years ago had the brown hair he notated on his passport renewal application .. this man who, upon closely inspecting those three photos and further inspecting his image in the bathroom mirror, did come to the realization there is no brown remaining. I am left only with the need to discover which spelling to utilize .. is it gray or is it grey? Of course it is a little late to know the spelling, since gray (or grey) was spelled B..R..O..W..N on my paperwork.
As my passport renewal application makes its way, I happily remember days of passports before. I bask in the glow of more memories than one man deserves. It was an honest mistake, writing brown instead of gray, and I feel confident I will receive a new diminutive travel booklet. In the meantime, I recall that fellow pictured on my old passport, which is currently transitioning somewhere within the United States Postal Service, and I know I must say "Goodbye Old Friend" as this new man, with a mane of gray, humbly and gratefully takes his place.
One would think renewing a passport to be a simple procedure. Obtain the proper papers, have a new photo taken, then send everything, including my current passport, to the appropriate governmental agency. Easy stuff, one would think, simple enough. This time, however, an unexpected element appeared. This time, as I sat at the table putting my completed package together, emotion crept in. "Crept" may be much too subtle a descriptor .. "Charged" may well be more accurate. As I touched my passport prior to placing it into the envelope, past years of travel memories staggered me.
I won't bore you with personal travel stories here, that's not the point of this writing. What I do wish to convey is the intense feeling of panic which rushed through me immediately after delivering my passport and accompanying paperwork to our post office. The thought of not having my document renewed for any reason struck me like a lightning bolt. The notion I could actually be restricted to my own country or repelled by another country, based solely on a diminutive travel booklet, left me shuddering.
Factually, the process is easy. It certainly doesn't take a rocket scientist to answer the straightforward questions posed on the renewal application. All the usual personal stuff like age, height, weight, color of eyes, color of hair, etc. etc. are automatic responses for morally straight and honest people. I suggest the most difficult part of the procedure is driving to whatever photo shop you've selected in order to obtain the current regulation size passport photo for inclusion in your packet. We've all gone through similar procedures our entire lives. Every one of us has given countless applications for jobs, drivers licenses, rental applications, and the list goes on and on. Except for our address and weight, most of the descriptions remain accurate for our lifetimes. It is nearly an automatic response system we utilize for filling out questionnaires.
I took my envelope to the post office and returned home. On our beautiful mango table, where I put together my application packet, were three passport sized photos. The photo shop had taken four pictures and one was now in the mail, headed to the governmental agency folks who now hold my travel life within their powerful jurisdiction. I picked up the photos and looked at myself .. my "self" who is now ten years older than that guy pictured on my last passport .. "Sonofabitch!"
I rushed to the post office, but the mail had already been picked up and my envelope was gone. I was too late. The ladies behind the counter got a good laugh at my expense when I related the reason for wanting to retrieve my application. They seemed to think everything would work out alright. I, on the other hand, continue to live in a paranoid state, hoping some kindhearted, understanding being at the "passport place" will overlook the late realization of this man .. this man who ten years ago had the brown hair he notated on his passport renewal application .. this man who, upon closely inspecting those three photos and further inspecting his image in the bathroom mirror, did come to the realization there is no brown remaining. I am left only with the need to discover which spelling to utilize .. is it gray or is it grey? Of course it is a little late to know the spelling, since gray (or grey) was spelled B..R..O..W..N on my paperwork.
As my passport renewal application makes its way, I happily remember days of passports before. I bask in the glow of more memories than one man deserves. It was an honest mistake, writing brown instead of gray, and I feel confident I will receive a new diminutive travel booklet. In the meantime, I recall that fellow pictured on my old passport, which is currently transitioning somewhere within the United States Postal Service, and I know I must say "Goodbye Old Friend" as this new man, with a mane of gray, humbly and gratefully takes his place.
Facker
August 13, 2017
August 13, 2017
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