A major milestone occurred at the tail end of 1979 - my tenth birthday. This trip around the sun carried special significance as I simultaneously closed out my first decade of treading this sod and graduated into double digits. One of the benefits of this landmark achievement was my eligibility for my own Department of Defense dependent ID card.
In my mind's eye, having my own ID card was a telltale sign I was growing up. This wasn't like the Junior Superhero badge I got from sending in coupons from the backs of comic books. This was an official DoD credential that carried real weight and afforded a measure of independence.
Prior to getting my own, I had to be escorted by a current ID holder, usually Mom or Dad, to gain access to facilities on base. Now with my own ID, I could get onto the base by myself and enter the Exchange, Commissary, bowling alley, and movie theater without an escort. For ten-year-old me, a whole world to explore opened up. If anyone questioned my presence at any of these places, I merely flashed my ID. Membership had its privileges.
A scant 6 years later, I passed another milestone. Fulfilling the requirement of holding a learner's permit and not royally screwing up for a year, at 16 I was eligible for my driver's license. The privilege of lawful, unfettered access to any drivable destination was a game-changer.
In the intervening decades, I took full advantage of the freedom of mobility afforded me as a holder of a valid driver's license and explored many highways and byways that crisscross this country. That ID had a secondary purpose. It proved I was who I said I was. Whether at a bank, a bar, or boarding gate, my driver's license backed me up when I announced my identity.
Early in my teenage years, a more profound milestone quietly occurred. Mom went before a judge of the Federal Southern District of Mississippi's main courthouse in Jackson. There, she took the oath of allegiance and became a naturalized US citizen.
Dad, through his service in the US Navy, was previously granted citizenship. This meant that I, a minor child born abroad to two naturalized parents, through a derivative process also became a US citizen.
The rights and privileges afforded me because of my citizenship are incalculable, and I love the freedom and opportunity this country granted me. I saw this as a debt of honor, and to repay it, I unhesitatingly raised my right hand to heaven and took a solemn vow to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic.
Recent changes in policy, however, have brought new challenges.
Shockingly, one of the first actions the current administration took was sign an executive order ending birthright citizenship. I didn't think it applied to my case, but I had to read the verbiage several times to know for certain. Citizenship can be revoked, but this generally requires the commission of high crimes such as treason. Revocation of citizenship for anything less is onerous and repugnant.
By definition, Immigration and Customs Enforcement has no authority over US citizens. But there are reports of ICE agents detaining and, according to some sources, deporting US citizens. If these reports are verified, it's a serious deterioration of rule of law, a core tenet of the founding of this country.
As a precaution, I now carry my US Passport card on me in the event I have to prove my citizenship. That I feel compelled to do this both saddens and angers me. Three generations of my family served during wartime as part of US forces, and the current actions of this administration and the actions allowed by Federal agents feels like a betrayal.
Regardless, each milestone, from my first ID card to my license and citizenship, has been a chapter in the story of my life. Each brought its own lessons of independence, weight of responsibility, and power of opportunity. All three shaped my identity and my perspective on the world. Moving forward, I intend to continue to honor the responsibilities I hold, to make the most of the freedoms I've been given, and to defend them as I'm bound by an oath sworn long ago.
Rock-tober out.
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