Jill Pertler has been writing professionally for over 20 years. In addition to business writing and work with individuals, she has had articles published in local, regional and national magazines.
Her syndicated column, Slices of Life, is distributed weekly to newspapers throughout the upper midwest.
Need a passport? No worries, mate!
By: Jill Pertler
Leaving the country isn’t as easy as it used to be.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the U.S.A, but every so often a gal gets a craving to hop a border and see a little bit of the world. I enjoy going south every now and again. It beats Minnesota winters, or at least helps to make them a little more bearable.
It used to be that you could visit our next-door neighbors – Mexico and Canada -- without much planning or forethought. Getting in and out of the country required just a photo ID and birth certificate. I’ve got both of those.
New regulations require a passport for airplane travel. For me, that means six passports, because my family usually doesn’t let me vacation alone.
My husband completed the passport application process many years ago and assured me that there is nothing to it, really. It takes just a little preparation, the necessary documents and checks totaling just over $100 per person (a little less if you are too young to drive). Both parents must be present if you are getting passports for the kids. This prevents a person like me from absconding with her children and living on the lamb in some exotic country like Mexico.
At our house, I started the passport procedure by searching for birth certificates with the official county seal. I could only find five, but needed six – unless we wanted to vacation without our oldest son. Now there’s a dilemma.
Next, there were online application forms. They required everyone’s social security number. I pulled out last year’s tax return, filled in the blanks and figured I was done. Then I realized I’d forgotten to complete the part about whether the kids ever went by an alias. Except for the brief period when the one son demanded that we call him Buzz Lightyear, we’ve been pretty good about using our real names. I went back and redid the forms, conveniently leaving out any details or references to “Toy Story.”
My husband’s passport had expired. We needed the information from that to get the new one. I dug through on old file drawer of ancient information and found what I was looking for. The passport was from 1986, and I was reminded that my husband had lots of curly hair when he was 22.
I carefully and preparedly put all the documents together in a folder.
Next I turned my attention to the kids to make sure their faces were free from food and everyone was wearing clean and appropriate clothing. The 12-year old had on an AC/DC T-shirt. Somehow that seemed unpatriotic, so I asked him to change. I ran a comb through the five-year-old’s hair and wiped the ketchup off his chin.
I grabbed the folder, my driver’s license and checkbook.
Just then, my husband’s truck pulled up in the driveway. “Ready?” he asked cheerfully.
He caught me off guard, plus I was out of breath, so gave a quick nod.
We arrived at the post office (where passports are purchased and processed) and I realized I’ve forgotten my husband’s 1986 passport. In addition to driver’s license and birth certificate, you have to relinquish any old passports when applying for new ones. I was feeling disarrayed and perhaps a little paranoid, but I thought my husband rolled his eyes ever so slightly before going home to retrieve the passport.
The kids and I began the picture-taking process. I was sweating and my face was flushed. I realized that in my efforts to comb the kids’ hair, I forgot about my own. Never mind. Can you say, cheese?
Separate checks had to be written for each passport because they are processed individually. I borrowed a pen from the nice post office lady and began my journey to writer’s cramp.
Picture taking complete, I noticed that my son never changed his AC/DC shirt. Too late now. Maybe the photo would include just his head and shoulders and not the rock and roll logo, I reasoned hopefully.
Just as I finished writing all the checks, my husband returned with his old passport and smiled for the camera. His photo turned out great. It was getting late, and he had to get back to work. The post office lady was accommodating. I could stay and finish all the tedious paperwork and he could leave. He signed his name six times and was out the door.
It took a couple of weeks, but the passports arrived on time, in the mail. My husband piled them in a neat little stack on the kitchen counter and turned to me with a satisfied smile. “Some good pictures,” he noted. “And easy, too. Right?”
He caught me off guard, plus I was out of breath, so I gave a quick nod.
END.
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