IDENTITY ISSUES

This past Friday I received a fat envelope from the citizenship-processing centre (notice the Canadian spelling?) in Nova Scotia. As I had been told that my wait for my daughters' citizenship cards could take up to a year, I was thrilled to get them after only 4 months.

My kids were born in the US so they are American but are entitled to Canadian citizenship because DH and I are Canadian. After weeks of document wrangling, I put together the application packets; I gathered birth certificates, our marriage certificate and carefully labeled photos of the girls (mug shots: NO SMILING!!) and sent them off. I should mention the fairly embarrassing impetus for the application: I recently entered Canada with absolutely no identification for the children. When I pulled up to the window, I engaged in the standard series of questions. No, I didn't have any drugs or alcohol. No, I didn't have a GUN! Yes, I have my passport. And then, a difficult question: Um, nooooo, I don't have any identification for my daughters...

"Are you certain, Madame, that you have nothing to show that these are your daughters?" asked the exceedingly polite immigration officer.

Chagrined and flabbergasted, I simply shook my head. I offered to call my genealogist father and have their birth certificates faxed to them within minutes, but he politely declined. I had had my daughters' birth certificates in my car but had cleaned them out in some frenzy months before. The nice official did let us in that day, with strict instructions to never show up without proper ID again. As I drove off squirming, my eldest said, “I can’t believe you didn’t have ID for us!!!"

That folks, was what I call a moron manoevre.

So back to the envelope: the thing was galvanized with fibre tape - impenetrable! and required me to hack it open from the front with a pair of scissors. Inside I found official documents and TA DA... the identity cards that proclaim, finally, my kids' dual identities. But then I notice that they bollixed it up!! They put the WRONG face on the wrong card!! These cards were as useful as tits on the proverbial bull. Did the officials fail to notice the careful labeling on the backs of the photos? Perhaps they decided they didn’t agree with the way I named my daughters - perhaps my matching of names and faces offended their aesthetic sense and they corrected the problem? I am an identical twin, so I am used to having my face confused for my sister’s. These kids, however, do not look that much alike; people have actually inquired whether they have the same father!

The cards are now on their way back to the nearest consulate, where they will be reprocessed, free of charge. Shit happens, the nice consular lady told me in oh-so-polite other words, but we would be happy to take care of that for you. Have a nice day, eh?