My Past-port

Printed next to a picture of me that I hardly recognize is the date 22 SEP 94. Next to that the Date d’experiation 21 SEPT 04.

It’s been almost fifteen years since I got my passport in preparation for our trip to London. [It was a great trip; $499.00 got us a round trip flight and a weeks lodging in The Royal Hotel in downtown London. Ahhh, yep, good times!] That passport saw a lot of miles, not many compared to some, but much more than others.

The thing that struck me funny about the date was the year, not the fact that it was 1994, but that it was just plain 94, nine-four. That was back before we thought the world might come to a stop because computers would get confused and think it was 1900 again. It was also before I even heard of something called Multiple Myeloma that would eventually turn my world upside down. And, of course, it was before 911, which really did both stop the world and turn it upside down.

Although I might have shown it a couple times to cross into Canada, and more importantly, get back, the last I needed it was in 2001. Ever since that time, it laid quietly at the ready (you know, “just in case”) in a safe deposit box at the bank. 21 SEP 04 came and went, I never received a friendly note from Uncle Sam saying,

“Dear Don,
I just thought you might like me to remind you that your passport is expiring in a few months. Please call me, I’ll be happy to help you renew it.
Love, Your Uncle S.”

Nope; no note, letter, telegram, e-mail, phone call, or printed obituary; the little blue and gold book just quietly expired, unknown and un-remembered by anybody. I took solace in the fact that it wasn’t alone when it expired. It was nestled safely between its friends U.S. Savings Bonds and old life insurance policies. Nevertheless, it expired without a thought on my behalf of Big Ben, The Cliffs of Mohr, The Slate Grotto on Valencia Island, or the Irish Mad Cow Disease scare in ’01.

Truth be told, I didn’t need it or really want it. You see, I discovered something even better than traveling to Europe, or the Caribbean. It is called the U.S. of A. Our country offers so much and most of us poo-poo the idea of traveling domestically. I don’t mean a weekend down the shore (that’s “going to the beach” if you aren’t from the PA/NJ area). I mean a pile-the-luggage-on-the-roof-and-the-kids-in-the-back-seat, see the countryside vacation. Take Johnny’s picture in front of the World’s Largest Ball of String, marvel at the patience required to construct Roadside America, or have lunch at the Diner-saur park where hulking metal dinosaurs watch you eat and “Pink Ladies” serve you.

Is flying off to an island where the people speak a dialect of English I can hardly understand really that much better than eating a burger and having a salt-rimmed drink, watching the sunset at the southern-most point of the US? Or . . . what about eating a steak and drinking a glass of wine while your restaurant slowly rotates high above the city of Seattle. Have you seen or done that? [Does it seem to you that I equate good times to eating?]

Chapter after chapter and volumes stacked on volumes have been written about the scenery and people of Alaska and Hawaii. Put it on your To-Do list, reading about those places is for sissies, do it! How about the center of our country? Starting with the great arch in St Louis (that engineering marvel is on my bucket list by the way) and the monster Mississippi River to the unbelievable eroded rock formations farther west (you have to put Bryce Canyon on your list if you haven’t been there).

This past fall I checked off another line of my list. Being a car guy, driving California Route 1 (the Pacific Coast Highway) in a convertible at a better than brisk pace was almost as good as . . . well, never mind. Let’s just say the only time I wasn’t smiling is when I came upon a lumbering mini-van, but as soon as I was able to get by, the smile always returned.

Now that you’ve endured my See America First Sermon I have to tell you why I’m even talking about my expired past-port. You see, I just got back from getting my picture taken so I can renew it. Last night I printed out the required form, now all I have to do is send the signed form, two 2”x 2” photos (with the measurement from my chin to the top of my head between 1” and 1 3/8”), and a check to Uncle Sam. Then, after a brief four to six weeks I’ll have my new and improved passport in hand. Improved? Yep, not like my old one at all, this one will have a smart chip not so secretly embedded within the layers of the back cover. How James Bondish is that?

So why, you might be asking yourself, am I getting another passport? The answer is simple . . . just in case!

Please remember all our veterans this weekend and through the rest of the year. My grandfather fought in WWI. My Dad fought in WWII and was at Pearl Harbor when the Japanese came knocking. I too am a veteran of the regular Army, but I’m not aware of any Army band that defended a border. Keep the real veterans in mind like my grandfather and my father. While you are at it pray for those people wearing our uniforms and are in harms way. They are there, and in many cases hated for being there, all because of the decisions of others. These young people deserve to be back home as soon as possible.

Remember, without those that fought for us, we may not be able to drive from Down East Maine, to the Upper East Side, to East L.A. without the use of a passport.

Thanks for reading me,

Don