I find myself amazed at the furious pace of events and technology. Some things evolving today that our children will likely take for granted:
The commonality of the personal computer - It reminds me of talking to people who remember seeing an automobile for the first time. Our grandkids will say things like:
"Tell me again how you had to write notes and letters on paper!"
"What's a telephone line?"
"Bring out the typewriter thing again! It's sooooooo funny!"
"What's a postage stamp?"
"How did you blog?!?"
Money - I remember when credit cards came in two primary flavors: Mastercard and Visa. Now that most fast food restaurants are taking cards I wonder why I even carry cash around.
Telephones - Would anyone over the age of ten even know how to operate a rotary phone? How about party lines? I wonder how long it'll be before we quit carrying cell phones around and have the functionality built into a watch or necklace or something. Shoe phones! Some things never go out of style, right Mr. Smart?
Cameras - The concept of waiting for development is all ready out the door. My two year old was appalled that she couldn't see the picture her aunt had just taken of her with a film camera.
Cars - Changes are slow, but getting there. GPS and on-board computers are making getting lost an art form. I gotta tell you, I miss the floorboard switch for the high beams ("ka-chunk"). I expect to see a keyboard appear in a new model any year now. Maybe the ability to program what indicators show up on the dash, what color the interior lights are and wireless access for passengers, of course.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Friday, August 20, 2004
What Price Citizenship? (ongoing)
In my quest to complete the citizenship process for my daughter, Evie, I have encountered several obstacles. The most significant of which has been the US Government. What follows is an ongoing blog of the process.
The initial Immigration form and check that I submitted in February 2004 were rejected. I had foolishly used the form I had been instructed to use by the person I spoke to on the phone.
I must note that the hand-written information that accompanied the denial of the form indicated that I also did not pay the appropriate amount. According to the form and the Internet, I most certainly did.
Undeterred, I rewrote the information into a form that was identified as appropriate and re-wrote the check. Ironically, this form was identical to the other form with the exception of the placement of several fields. My use of the word "ironic" is ironic in itself. Much like the way a red hot poker in the eye is "irritating".
After several weeks the check ($140) I sent in with the new form cleared. I took this as a positive sign that I had, indeed, used the correct form. I now have suspicions that because I did not overpay by the amount suggested in the note, that they processed the request under "troublemaker".
Months later I received a note in the mail indicating that the photocopied records I had sent in appeared to be in order. A date was provided for Evie and me to travel to Cincinnati to meet with the Immigration service and finalize her citizenship. At last!
I took half a day off of work to drive to downtown Cincinnati. Evie seemed to enjoy the city sites. She was particularly fascinated by the parking meters.
We were admitted in a timely fashion and were interviewed by a surprisingly pleasant woman. All went well until we reached the adoption certificate. It didn't look right. Did I have any others?
Naturally, I did not, since this was THE adoption certificate. Having foreseen the likelihood that they would decide that the previously-approved paperwork in their possession might not be sufficient after all, I brought everything I ever had from the adoption process. Everything. All twelve pounds of paper.
Alas, my preparedness took a back seat to the skillful ways of the Immigration service.
The certificate did not clearly indicate that we had adopted Evie (despite the several dozen receipts for bribes...er, fees I possessed). Because Kathy did not make the trip to China (due to being pregnant with Anna), Evie had entered the country as an infant "to be adopted" rather than an adopted infant.
My argument that an entire year of changing dirty diapers should qualify for an official family decree fell on deaf ears.
The director was away on vacation for two weeks. Without her final say, the previously approved documentation was "not sufficient". She would check with the director upon her return, however. Perhaps, she suggested, this was a new format for the adoption certificate and would be accepted after all.
I must say at this point that I know a brush off when I hear it. I was screwed. This is the sort of thing that a computer support person does when they want you off the phone so they can go to lunch. "uh, why don't you run a scan disk and reboot...call me back when that doesn't fix...er, if that doesn't fix your problem".
7/5/2004 - After several weeks of waiting I received a letter in the mail confirming my suspicions. The previously-accepted paperwork was deemed improper for completing the citizenship process. At least that's my interpretation of the note, which was really a collection of legalese and cut-and-pasted Immigration forms.
I had the option of requesting a review of the decision (for a paltry $110 fee) if I respond by mail in the next 30 days. I'm not falling for that one. It's time to call the Ohio Immigration service and get some answers.
7/14/2004 - After a lengthy Internet search I managed to re-find the number for Immigration for the state of Ohio. They had changed the name to U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services. I swear it was BCIS the last time I checked. They can run but they can't hide. I know the Internet too well.
I call to find their working hours are 1-4 PM weekdays. Nothing like avoiding those pesky morning calls.
I call back in the early afternoon and wake one of the Immigration operators. He is immediately concerned that I have called to ask a question. He stammers that he needs to put me on hold while he "finds someone who knows something". 15 minutes later he returns, disappointed to find that I have not hung up.
He was unsuccessful in his quest to find Someone Who Knows Something but will grudgingly take a message and have Someone call me back.
I begin with an explanation as to my need for clarification on the paperwork we have received as well as some additional information regarding the readoption process. He has me repeat and simplify the questions several times. I am quite certain that he is concerned that the length of the message will exceed the limitations of the Post-It note or scrap of paper he is scribbling on.
I emphasize the need for information on the readoption process. Very important.
I would realize later that I had made several mistakes:
I did not give him my cell phone number
I did not emphasize a third time that the readoption information was important
I did not ask for his name
Immigration (Ohio branch) called back and left a message on our answering machine that afternoon. It was from the guy I had spoken to earlier in the day. He explained that he was going to look into my questions, but then he was reminded of the Privacy Act and that he was allowed to tell me nothing about my daughter’s case.
I grappled for hours with the notion of having my two-year old daughter call back and demand an explanation. Chances are she would end up asking them "where's Pappa?"
Par for the course, he neglected to answer the most critical portion of my questions: how do I initiate the readoption process? I am pretty certain that is not something covered under the Privacy Act.
Just for grins I Googled the Privacy Act. While there were no options for Immigration or Naturalization searches, there were some fascinating details to be had for the Marine Mammal Commission.
I will call again. I am an unrelenting glutton for punishment.
7/16/2004 - I called back in the early afternoon, once again startling the poor fellow who sleeps near the phone. It is the same chap I spoke to the day before and he remembers me. He apologizes for not stonewalling me sooner.
I let him know that the person in question (the adoptee) is a small child and that the Privacy Law should not apply. He is rather baffled that I would be adopting a small child as opposed to an adult when the form used, to his recollection, was for someone over 18 years of age. I assure him that this is an adoption, not a mail-order bride scenario.
He promises to have someone call me back with the details of the file. I provide my contact information again as he had used his previous note to discard a piece of chewing gum. This time I give him my cell phone number.
The nice lady (Sarah) that interviewed us that long ago day in Cincinnati called me back a few hours later. She confirmed that I was indeed hosed and that the readoption process was our next step. She did admit that it was possible the state of Ohio would accept the adoption document I had as "official", but she wasn't sure whom to speak to about such a matter. She referred me to Julia in the fingerprinting department as a potential source for the answer.
I immediately suspected that this was Sarah's way of paying Julia back for stealing her lunch earlier in the week. Or perhaps part of an elaborate practical joke. Folks at the US Immigration and Naturalization Service are world-renown for their sense of humor.
When asked why an interview was set up when the documentation I had provided was insufficient, she told me that the clerks who review the documents are not authorized to determine whether they are appropriate or not. Once again I was astounded by the bureaucratic logic of this process.
I left a message with the fingerprinting group's voice mail, suspecting that I would not hear from them without at least several follow-up calls and a bribe of some chocolates and nylons.
7/17/2004 - I left a morning voice mail with the Montgomery County adoption office asking for a call back regarding the readoption process. Doesn't anyone answer their phone anymore?
8/11/2004 - After three voice mails, I was graced by a call from the woman at the Montgomery County adoption office. She couldn't help me as they only deal with local adoptions. Not sure if she understood that I wasn't interested in another adoption...just getting through the last one!
I contacted Adoption By Gentle Care, whom we had used for our home study what seems like decades ago. Naturally the person I need to speak to was unavailable, so I left a message.
8/16/2004 - The person at Adoption by Gentle Care was very helpful. She pointed me to the Montgomery County Probate Court as our next step. Odd that the Montgomery County Adoption Agency didn't do that. While they do not share the same building, they are within blocks of each other.
8/18/2004 - I found some fairly useful information on the Montgomery County Probate Court website, even information specific to the readoption process. Imagine that! Unfortunately the petition for readoption form is not one of the forms listed on their site so it looks like I'll be taking a trip downtown to pick up a copy.
8/20/2004 - I leave work early in order to make it downtown before the Probate Court closes (4:30 PM). Naturally we get the first significant rain in the area for well over a month, which slows traffic considerably. By the time I reach the Perry St. building, the steady rain has turned to a downpour and my watch tells me I have less than twenty minutes to make it to the office.
I note with disgust that the block surrounding the Probate Court is littered with construction debris and that the majority of parking meters in the vicinity are hooded and unavailable for use. After driving three blocks I swear loudly and pull into a public parking garage. Why would anyone go downtown if they didn't have to?
I had the foresight to injure my ankle the week before, so I managed only a pathetic limp across the street and around the corner through the crowds of miscreants being released from the County Jail.
I was mildly surprised that the guards at the door didn’t insist on a body cavity search (it had been that sort of day). Instead, they quickly waved me through. As I exited the elevator I saw a bevy of biddies making a run for the open elevator doors across from the Probate Court office. "Aw, you guys are out for the day? I thought the office was open until 4:30," I lamented, pointedly looking at my watch that read 4:20.
The women looked like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. "Er, what can we do for you?" asked the one in back, eyeing the elevator longingly. She was relieved to find that the form I needed was available elsewhere in the offices and happily sent me to room 207 as she scuttled past me.
My pace quickened as I passed rooms 204, 205, 206 and...208? Astonishingly, there was no room 207! Foiled again! I began, in my fevered imagination, to picture some evil creature watching me dance this silly dance, using his vast powers to thwart my every move. I decided to name him Edgar.
I pushed my way into office 206 and put on my best dazed look. It wasn't difficult. I was wet as a drowned rat.
After being asked several times (and I am not kidding) "so, is it raining out?" a kind woman took pity and asked me what I was looking for. Fortunately she knew where to get the documents from and busied herself with making copies for me.
She informed me that I would need to fill out the entire form completely and that I must use a typewriter.
"People still use typewriters?!" I blurted incredulously.
"Yep," she answered, completely oblivious to my sarcasm. "If you don't have one, you can use the one down the hall" she said, nodding vaguely towards what I can only assume was the Museum of Antiquities. I made a point of checking out the flat-screen LCD monitors on the desktops in the office. Still my irony was wasted. Somewhere Edgar laughed loudly.
I asked her if this was a process that required me to obtain a lawyer. She said (and I really couldn't make this up) "no, not if you understand all the legal issues". Hmm. Evidently people that work in the Probate Office were forbidden to give legal advice. I couldn't imagine why.
The good news was that she thought that there was no filing cost for the petition. Until she checked the sheet again. Turns out it was the most expense filing charge of the lot. Edgar was positively beside himself by this point.
I took my leave of the Probate Court building, knowing that I would have to return at least one more time before this whole sordid process was over. I wedged the envelope of copied forms into my shirt to try to keep it dry on the long, wet walk back to the car.
10/01/2004 - I have submitted. After attempting to fill out the various forms given to me in such a way to make them appear "type-written" (heathens) I came across a form that required English translations for documents that did not have them as well as a date of the format 19__.
I give.
I made some calls and was rewarded with a list of lawyers specializing in immigration work. One was a guy with a Kettering office not far from my in-laws.
I spoke with him over the phone and he felt this was a slam dunk, given some time and, of course, money to complete the process. He was under the impression that this would negate the need to go back through the BCIS process. Thank God.
We met to go over paperwork and he left me feeling confident that this would get underway in January. At last, some progress!
3/2005 - More paperwork under the bridge, some money changing hands and we have a court date! Tom Rausch was well worth the money for the time that we saved trying to navigate the ridiculous process of re-adoption. It's a system that does not pity the uninitiated.
We met Tom and Kathy's folks and sister, Jean, at the Montgomery County courthouse. The session went quickly and unremarkably. The judge asked a few simple questions, declared that the child's best interest is served with us and she posed for a few pictures with the happy family.
Evie got to take home a tiny gavel as a symbol of the justice served that day. We quickly hid it. You simply can't give a two-year-old a hammer and expect no negative repercussions.
Now we wait for the birth certificate so that we can request a Social Security Number and then...on to citizenship!
As an aside, I'd like to rant at the IRS for a moment. In completing my taxes this year, I received notification that one of my children (guess which one) didn't register with a valid SSN.
After a half dozen phone calls I managed to reach the right office of the IRS. This was almost pleasant and easy compared to my other tasks in this endeavor.
The IRS agent informed me that the A-number wasn't sufficient for the child deduction and that I would have to re-file my taxes when I received a valid SSN for Evelyn.
I questioned why this wasn't an issue last year when I did the same thing and received no letter or reduction on my return.
He quickly assured me that they, in fact, had caught it but that the substantial overage of the adoption expenses neatly covered any reduction. Uhm...the overage that I was declaring this year? He quickly recommended I re-file for this year and the last, just to be thorough. I'll be sure to do that. Coming soon...Tony's audit blog.
8/15/2005 - The birth certificate has arrived! It was a bit later that the 12 weeks we were promised. Evidently the state gets "backed up" on birth certificates from time to time. I could see why when I looked at the certificate. It must have taken months alone to type my name, Kathy's name, Evie's name and virtually no other useful information on a piece of multi-colored paper. Another few weeks for the embossing stamp. Sigh.
Next step...the dreaded department of Social Security. It's conveniently (almost mockingly) located across the hall from the courtroom that the readoption took place in five months ago.
I was able to find the office hours listed on the Internet. I still need to call and verify that we need bring nothing unexpected to the appointment. In my dozens of calls to the SS office in the past calendar year I've only managed to have someone pick up the phone once. Must've been a new guy. The rest of the time the line is typically busy.
9/5/06 - The Social Security card arrived without much fanfare. Immediately I began work on correcting two years of tax filings.
My HR Block rep is seasonal and the guy I talked with about helping me with my 1040X forms was no help at all. After several phone conversations about what I needed I made a special trip to the office just to have him hand me two blank 1040X forms. Oh, I needed assistance filling them out?! Well, no time on the schedule for that.
Sigh. Back to the IRS. With the amount of time already passed I didn't want to have the forms sent back or ignored.
As with most government forms, the 1040X is almost too simple. Some of the instructions left the possibility for multiple interpretations. I was pleasantly surprised to find my call answered quickly. The fellow was very polite, helpful and answered all my questions thoroughly.
Several weeks later I started getting notices that my revisions had been accepted and that a correction check was forthcoming. Yay!
Now, on to that pesky citizenship stuff...
11/16/06 - I received notice to appear in Cincinnati (again) bringing the appropriate original paperwork (again), the appropriate child (Evie) and any available parent (that would be me).
Naturally, things could not go without some type of hitch. Evidently the powers that be decided that the Visa-type photo, which is different from the passport photo in that you need to have a three-quarter facial view as opposed to a full-frontal view, was old school and that now only the passport-type photo would be accepted. Naturally, this fact was not reflected in the very latest copy of the form I downloaded from the BCIS website and checked the day before I submitted the paperwork. Posted date of change according to what they sent me: September 2004.
Off the Walgreens for another ridiculously overpriced photo booth shot. Fortunately Evie rather likes having her picture taken.
Hopefully this is the last of the pitfalls in my path. Next date: December 28th!
(to be continued)
The initial Immigration form and check that I submitted in February 2004 were rejected. I had foolishly used the form I had been instructed to use by the person I spoke to on the phone.
I must note that the hand-written information that accompanied the denial of the form indicated that I also did not pay the appropriate amount. According to the form and the Internet, I most certainly did.
Undeterred, I rewrote the information into a form that was identified as appropriate and re-wrote the check. Ironically, this form was identical to the other form with the exception of the placement of several fields. My use of the word "ironic" is ironic in itself. Much like the way a red hot poker in the eye is "irritating".
After several weeks the check ($140) I sent in with the new form cleared. I took this as a positive sign that I had, indeed, used the correct form. I now have suspicions that because I did not overpay by the amount suggested in the note, that they processed the request under "troublemaker".
Months later I received a note in the mail indicating that the photocopied records I had sent in appeared to be in order. A date was provided for Evie and me to travel to Cincinnati to meet with the Immigration service and finalize her citizenship. At last!
I took half a day off of work to drive to downtown Cincinnati. Evie seemed to enjoy the city sites. She was particularly fascinated by the parking meters.
We were admitted in a timely fashion and were interviewed by a surprisingly pleasant woman. All went well until we reached the adoption certificate. It didn't look right. Did I have any others?
Naturally, I did not, since this was THE adoption certificate. Having foreseen the likelihood that they would decide that the previously-approved paperwork in their possession might not be sufficient after all, I brought everything I ever had from the adoption process. Everything. All twelve pounds of paper.
Alas, my preparedness took a back seat to the skillful ways of the Immigration service.
The certificate did not clearly indicate that we had adopted Evie (despite the several dozen receipts for bribes...er, fees I possessed). Because Kathy did not make the trip to China (due to being pregnant with Anna), Evie had entered the country as an infant "to be adopted" rather than an adopted infant.
My argument that an entire year of changing dirty diapers should qualify for an official family decree fell on deaf ears.
The director was away on vacation for two weeks. Without her final say, the previously approved documentation was "not sufficient". She would check with the director upon her return, however. Perhaps, she suggested, this was a new format for the adoption certificate and would be accepted after all.
I must say at this point that I know a brush off when I hear it. I was screwed. This is the sort of thing that a computer support person does when they want you off the phone so they can go to lunch. "uh, why don't you run a scan disk and reboot...call me back when that doesn't fix...er, if that doesn't fix your problem".
7/5/2004 - After several weeks of waiting I received a letter in the mail confirming my suspicions. The previously-accepted paperwork was deemed improper for completing the citizenship process. At least that's my interpretation of the note, which was really a collection of legalese and cut-and-pasted Immigration forms.
I had the option of requesting a review of the decision (for a paltry $110 fee) if I respond by mail in the next 30 days. I'm not falling for that one. It's time to call the Ohio Immigration service and get some answers.
7/14/2004 - After a lengthy Internet search I managed to re-find the number for Immigration for the state of Ohio. They had changed the name to U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services. I swear it was BCIS the last time I checked. They can run but they can't hide. I know the Internet too well.
I call to find their working hours are 1-4 PM weekdays. Nothing like avoiding those pesky morning calls.
I call back in the early afternoon and wake one of the Immigration operators. He is immediately concerned that I have called to ask a question. He stammers that he needs to put me on hold while he "finds someone who knows something". 15 minutes later he returns, disappointed to find that I have not hung up.
He was unsuccessful in his quest to find Someone Who Knows Something but will grudgingly take a message and have Someone call me back.
I begin with an explanation as to my need for clarification on the paperwork we have received as well as some additional information regarding the readoption process. He has me repeat and simplify the questions several times. I am quite certain that he is concerned that the length of the message will exceed the limitations of the Post-It note or scrap of paper he is scribbling on.
I emphasize the need for information on the readoption process. Very important.
I would realize later that I had made several mistakes:
I did not give him my cell phone number
I did not emphasize a third time that the readoption information was important
I did not ask for his name
Immigration (Ohio branch) called back and left a message on our answering machine that afternoon. It was from the guy I had spoken to earlier in the day. He explained that he was going to look into my questions, but then he was reminded of the Privacy Act and that he was allowed to tell me nothing about my daughter’s case.
I grappled for hours with the notion of having my two-year old daughter call back and demand an explanation. Chances are she would end up asking them "where's Pappa?"
Par for the course, he neglected to answer the most critical portion of my questions: how do I initiate the readoption process? I am pretty certain that is not something covered under the Privacy Act.
Just for grins I Googled the Privacy Act. While there were no options for Immigration or Naturalization searches, there were some fascinating details to be had for the Marine Mammal Commission.
I will call again. I am an unrelenting glutton for punishment.
7/16/2004 - I called back in the early afternoon, once again startling the poor fellow who sleeps near the phone. It is the same chap I spoke to the day before and he remembers me. He apologizes for not stonewalling me sooner.
I let him know that the person in question (the adoptee) is a small child and that the Privacy Law should not apply. He is rather baffled that I would be adopting a small child as opposed to an adult when the form used, to his recollection, was for someone over 18 years of age. I assure him that this is an adoption, not a mail-order bride scenario.
He promises to have someone call me back with the details of the file. I provide my contact information again as he had used his previous note to discard a piece of chewing gum. This time I give him my cell phone number.
The nice lady (Sarah) that interviewed us that long ago day in Cincinnati called me back a few hours later. She confirmed that I was indeed hosed and that the readoption process was our next step. She did admit that it was possible the state of Ohio would accept the adoption document I had as "official", but she wasn't sure whom to speak to about such a matter. She referred me to Julia in the fingerprinting department as a potential source for the answer.
I immediately suspected that this was Sarah's way of paying Julia back for stealing her lunch earlier in the week. Or perhaps part of an elaborate practical joke. Folks at the US Immigration and Naturalization Service are world-renown for their sense of humor.
When asked why an interview was set up when the documentation I had provided was insufficient, she told me that the clerks who review the documents are not authorized to determine whether they are appropriate or not. Once again I was astounded by the bureaucratic logic of this process.
I left a message with the fingerprinting group's voice mail, suspecting that I would not hear from them without at least several follow-up calls and a bribe of some chocolates and nylons.
7/17/2004 - I left a morning voice mail with the Montgomery County adoption office asking for a call back regarding the readoption process. Doesn't anyone answer their phone anymore?
8/11/2004 - After three voice mails, I was graced by a call from the woman at the Montgomery County adoption office. She couldn't help me as they only deal with local adoptions. Not sure if she understood that I wasn't interested in another adoption...just getting through the last one!
I contacted Adoption By Gentle Care, whom we had used for our home study what seems like decades ago. Naturally the person I need to speak to was unavailable, so I left a message.
8/16/2004 - The person at Adoption by Gentle Care was very helpful. She pointed me to the Montgomery County Probate Court as our next step. Odd that the Montgomery County Adoption Agency didn't do that. While they do not share the same building, they are within blocks of each other.
8/18/2004 - I found some fairly useful information on the Montgomery County Probate Court website, even information specific to the readoption process. Imagine that! Unfortunately the petition for readoption form is not one of the forms listed on their site so it looks like I'll be taking a trip downtown to pick up a copy.
8/20/2004 - I leave work early in order to make it downtown before the Probate Court closes (4:30 PM). Naturally we get the first significant rain in the area for well over a month, which slows traffic considerably. By the time I reach the Perry St. building, the steady rain has turned to a downpour and my watch tells me I have less than twenty minutes to make it to the office.
I note with disgust that the block surrounding the Probate Court is littered with construction debris and that the majority of parking meters in the vicinity are hooded and unavailable for use. After driving three blocks I swear loudly and pull into a public parking garage. Why would anyone go downtown if they didn't have to?
I had the foresight to injure my ankle the week before, so I managed only a pathetic limp across the street and around the corner through the crowds of miscreants being released from the County Jail.
I was mildly surprised that the guards at the door didn’t insist on a body cavity search (it had been that sort of day). Instead, they quickly waved me through. As I exited the elevator I saw a bevy of biddies making a run for the open elevator doors across from the Probate Court office. "Aw, you guys are out for the day? I thought the office was open until 4:30," I lamented, pointedly looking at my watch that read 4:20.
The women looked like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. "Er, what can we do for you?" asked the one in back, eyeing the elevator longingly. She was relieved to find that the form I needed was available elsewhere in the offices and happily sent me to room 207 as she scuttled past me.
My pace quickened as I passed rooms 204, 205, 206 and...208? Astonishingly, there was no room 207! Foiled again! I began, in my fevered imagination, to picture some evil creature watching me dance this silly dance, using his vast powers to thwart my every move. I decided to name him Edgar.
I pushed my way into office 206 and put on my best dazed look. It wasn't difficult. I was wet as a drowned rat.
After being asked several times (and I am not kidding) "so, is it raining out?" a kind woman took pity and asked me what I was looking for. Fortunately she knew where to get the documents from and busied herself with making copies for me.
She informed me that I would need to fill out the entire form completely and that I must use a typewriter.
"People still use typewriters?!" I blurted incredulously.
"Yep," she answered, completely oblivious to my sarcasm. "If you don't have one, you can use the one down the hall" she said, nodding vaguely towards what I can only assume was the Museum of Antiquities. I made a point of checking out the flat-screen LCD monitors on the desktops in the office. Still my irony was wasted. Somewhere Edgar laughed loudly.
I asked her if this was a process that required me to obtain a lawyer. She said (and I really couldn't make this up) "no, not if you understand all the legal issues". Hmm. Evidently people that work in the Probate Office were forbidden to give legal advice. I couldn't imagine why.
The good news was that she thought that there was no filing cost for the petition. Until she checked the sheet again. Turns out it was the most expense filing charge of the lot. Edgar was positively beside himself by this point.
I took my leave of the Probate Court building, knowing that I would have to return at least one more time before this whole sordid process was over. I wedged the envelope of copied forms into my shirt to try to keep it dry on the long, wet walk back to the car.
10/01/2004 - I have submitted. After attempting to fill out the various forms given to me in such a way to make them appear "type-written" (heathens) I came across a form that required English translations for documents that did not have them as well as a date of the format 19__.
I give.
I made some calls and was rewarded with a list of lawyers specializing in immigration work. One was a guy with a Kettering office not far from my in-laws.
I spoke with him over the phone and he felt this was a slam dunk, given some time and, of course, money to complete the process. He was under the impression that this would negate the need to go back through the BCIS process. Thank God.
We met to go over paperwork and he left me feeling confident that this would get underway in January. At last, some progress!
3/2005 - More paperwork under the bridge, some money changing hands and we have a court date! Tom Rausch was well worth the money for the time that we saved trying to navigate the ridiculous process of re-adoption. It's a system that does not pity the uninitiated.
We met Tom and Kathy's folks and sister, Jean, at the Montgomery County courthouse. The session went quickly and unremarkably. The judge asked a few simple questions, declared that the child's best interest is served with us and she posed for a few pictures with the happy family.
Evie got to take home a tiny gavel as a symbol of the justice served that day. We quickly hid it. You simply can't give a two-year-old a hammer and expect no negative repercussions.
Now we wait for the birth certificate so that we can request a Social Security Number and then...on to citizenship!
As an aside, I'd like to rant at the IRS for a moment. In completing my taxes this year, I received notification that one of my children (guess which one) didn't register with a valid SSN.
After a half dozen phone calls I managed to reach the right office of the IRS. This was almost pleasant and easy compared to my other tasks in this endeavor.
The IRS agent informed me that the A-number wasn't sufficient for the child deduction and that I would have to re-file my taxes when I received a valid SSN for Evelyn.
I questioned why this wasn't an issue last year when I did the same thing and received no letter or reduction on my return.
He quickly assured me that they, in fact, had caught it but that the substantial overage of the adoption expenses neatly covered any reduction. Uhm...the overage that I was declaring this year? He quickly recommended I re-file for this year and the last, just to be thorough. I'll be sure to do that. Coming soon...Tony's audit blog.
8/15/2005 - The birth certificate has arrived! It was a bit later that the 12 weeks we were promised. Evidently the state gets "backed up" on birth certificates from time to time. I could see why when I looked at the certificate. It must have taken months alone to type my name, Kathy's name, Evie's name and virtually no other useful information on a piece of multi-colored paper. Another few weeks for the embossing stamp. Sigh.
Next step...the dreaded department of Social Security. It's conveniently (almost mockingly) located across the hall from the courtroom that the readoption took place in five months ago.
I was able to find the office hours listed on the Internet. I still need to call and verify that we need bring nothing unexpected to the appointment. In my dozens of calls to the SS office in the past calendar year I've only managed to have someone pick up the phone once. Must've been a new guy. The rest of the time the line is typically busy.
9/5/06 - The Social Security card arrived without much fanfare. Immediately I began work on correcting two years of tax filings.
My HR Block rep is seasonal and the guy I talked with about helping me with my 1040X forms was no help at all. After several phone conversations about what I needed I made a special trip to the office just to have him hand me two blank 1040X forms. Oh, I needed assistance filling them out?! Well, no time on the schedule for that.
Sigh. Back to the IRS. With the amount of time already passed I didn't want to have the forms sent back or ignored.
As with most government forms, the 1040X is almost too simple. Some of the instructions left the possibility for multiple interpretations. I was pleasantly surprised to find my call answered quickly. The fellow was very polite, helpful and answered all my questions thoroughly.
Several weeks later I started getting notices that my revisions had been accepted and that a correction check was forthcoming. Yay!
Now, on to that pesky citizenship stuff...
11/16/06 - I received notice to appear in Cincinnati (again) bringing the appropriate original paperwork (again), the appropriate child (Evie) and any available parent (that would be me).
Naturally, things could not go without some type of hitch. Evidently the powers that be decided that the Visa-type photo, which is different from the passport photo in that you need to have a three-quarter facial view as opposed to a full-frontal view, was old school and that now only the passport-type photo would be accepted. Naturally, this fact was not reflected in the very latest copy of the form I downloaded from the BCIS website and checked the day before I submitted the paperwork. Posted date of change according to what they sent me: September 2004.
Off the Walgreens for another ridiculously overpriced photo booth shot. Fortunately Evie rather likes having her picture taken.
Hopefully this is the last of the pitfalls in my path. Next date: December 28th!
(to be continued)
Sunday, July 18, 2004
Finally Got One! One Man's Quest for a Foul Ball
As part of what is becoming a yearly tradition, I took my daughter Louisa, on her birthday, to the Dayton Dragons game. We caught a break as the rainy, muggy day turned bright and cheerful by the time we walked from the car to the stadium.
On the way to our seats, Louisa and I made a stop for a couple of plastic caps brimming with Dippin’ Dots. Part way through my quick-frozen, pellet treats a pop foul bounced from the bleachers down to our seats in the front row of the upper deck. The thrifty German in me refused to toss aside a full cup of heartily over-priced Dippin’ Dots, so I took a stab at the ball with my free, now spoonless, hand.
What can I say? It was an easy play and I booted it. The ball bounced softly off of my fingers and down to the waiting crowd below. I was roundly, and deservedly, booed for my defensive mismanagement of an easy foul ball. Kathy, who was watching the game at home on TV, remembers the announcers critiquing a particularly lame attempt by one of the fans. I have no doubt they were speaking of me, standing dejectedly in the open aisle with my melting cup of ice cream.
I need to take a moment to mention that in my 25+ years of attending professional baseball games I have never caught a ball (or any other object for that matter). This is partly due to bad luck, partly to lack of opportunity and certainly due to my avoidance of the new national pastime of plowing into old women and children to make a grab for some cheap souvenirs. For shame, Matt Starr (http://sports.espn.go.com/mlb/news/story?id=1822940).
I wondered aloud to Louisa why it was that every time we came to a game together and started eating Dippin’ Dots that I was forced to make a decision between dessert and a ball game prize. On our last trip to the ball orchard I flubbed a chance for a T-shirt that was launched into the stands from the field. Again, two hands makes an easy catch, one hand on ice cream equals public humiliation. Little did I know that a chance for redemption was less than an inning away.
Part way through the second inning the stadium scoreboard started displaying birthday greetings across the bottom of the big board. I had gone to great pains to have Louisa’s name added to this list, calling no less than six times throughout the day to the “entertainment” intern who evidently had things to do other than answer his phone. I even readied Kathy’s digital camera to take a shot at Louisa’s name as it appeared across the center field board.
There I sat, Elph camera in my left hand, poised to snap a shot at just the precise moment. In my peripheral vision I saw the foul ball off of the right-handers bat as it avoided the protective screen and shot up at me like a laser beam. I don’t think it’s too boastful to say that the one-handed grab of the line drive, scant inches from my chest, should go down in the annuls of Dayton Dragons history of defensive off-the-field gems. I am cognizant that every time I retell this tale, the ball travels faster and faster. I am contemplating how I can work a man-eating tiger into the story, though I suspect Louisa wouldn’t back me up on it. Naturally the aforementioned TV announcers were otherwise occupied and missed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to comment on my defensive wizardry. Their loss.
My level of nonchalant-ness in grabbing this projectile brought a crowd of red-shirted ushers to me. They, quite naturally, assumed the ball had hit me in the chest and that I was very likely dead. I assured them that all was well, shooed them out of cameras line of sight and snapped a shot of Louisa’s name as it scurried across the scoreboard. Another grand picture for the scrapbook!
As an aside, some poor souls were not blessed with my manual dexterity. A woman on the other end of the field was sent to the hospital after getting hit in the head by a line drive (http://www.daytondailynews.com/sports/content/sports/daily/0617dragons.html). Hopefully she is okay.
Later in the evening Louisa made local TV with the sign she and Kathy had made: Today’s my birthday! on one side, GO DRAGONS! on the other. Kathy, still watching from home, got to see it all. The TV announcers wished Louisa a happy birthday, but omitted comment on her golden-handed father.
The game went into extra innings and Louisa and I took some time to visit the gift shop. George Foster was at the game, and was scheduled to sign autographs. My first specific memory of George was a game-winning home run in the umpteenth inning to beat the Atlanta Braves somewhere around 1977. My other vivid memory of that game was my Uncle Jim and Aunt Liz faithlessly rooting for whichever team was batting in the hopes of a quick end to the game.
George was almost alone since the game had gone long and was still in progress, so I had him sign my ball while regaling him with the tale of how my life had almost come to an untimely end. I figured that as a former major league player he would have a deep and personal appreciation for what I had gone through. Although outwardly he seemed to chide me for being a sissy, I know that he was truly impressed deep down.
He happily paused for a picture with Louisa, located here: http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/Academy/8596/lou_foster.jpg
By this time, three of my five fingers were as stiff as the stadium hot dog buns, leaving me ill-prepared to properly communicate with the downtown drivers on my way home. Alas.
Unfortunately, the Dragons were unable to pull out a win, due largely to a misplayed ball in the top of the eleventh inning by the right fielder. Guess he wasn’t watching the first base side, upper deck, seat 10.
On the way to our seats, Louisa and I made a stop for a couple of plastic caps brimming with Dippin’ Dots. Part way through my quick-frozen, pellet treats a pop foul bounced from the bleachers down to our seats in the front row of the upper deck. The thrifty German in me refused to toss aside a full cup of heartily over-priced Dippin’ Dots, so I took a stab at the ball with my free, now spoonless, hand.
What can I say? It was an easy play and I booted it. The ball bounced softly off of my fingers and down to the waiting crowd below. I was roundly, and deservedly, booed for my defensive mismanagement of an easy foul ball. Kathy, who was watching the game at home on TV, remembers the announcers critiquing a particularly lame attempt by one of the fans. I have no doubt they were speaking of me, standing dejectedly in the open aisle with my melting cup of ice cream.
I need to take a moment to mention that in my 25+ years of attending professional baseball games I have never caught a ball (or any other object for that matter). This is partly due to bad luck, partly to lack of opportunity and certainly due to my avoidance of the new national pastime of plowing into old women and children to make a grab for some cheap souvenirs. For shame, Matt Starr (http://sports.espn.go.com/mlb/news/story?id=1822940).
I wondered aloud to Louisa why it was that every time we came to a game together and started eating Dippin’ Dots that I was forced to make a decision between dessert and a ball game prize. On our last trip to the ball orchard I flubbed a chance for a T-shirt that was launched into the stands from the field. Again, two hands makes an easy catch, one hand on ice cream equals public humiliation. Little did I know that a chance for redemption was less than an inning away.
Part way through the second inning the stadium scoreboard started displaying birthday greetings across the bottom of the big board. I had gone to great pains to have Louisa’s name added to this list, calling no less than six times throughout the day to the “entertainment” intern who evidently had things to do other than answer his phone. I even readied Kathy’s digital camera to take a shot at Louisa’s name as it appeared across the center field board.
There I sat, Elph camera in my left hand, poised to snap a shot at just the precise moment. In my peripheral vision I saw the foul ball off of the right-handers bat as it avoided the protective screen and shot up at me like a laser beam. I don’t think it’s too boastful to say that the one-handed grab of the line drive, scant inches from my chest, should go down in the annuls of Dayton Dragons history of defensive off-the-field gems. I am cognizant that every time I retell this tale, the ball travels faster and faster. I am contemplating how I can work a man-eating tiger into the story, though I suspect Louisa wouldn’t back me up on it. Naturally the aforementioned TV announcers were otherwise occupied and missed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to comment on my defensive wizardry. Their loss.
My level of nonchalant-ness in grabbing this projectile brought a crowd of red-shirted ushers to me. They, quite naturally, assumed the ball had hit me in the chest and that I was very likely dead. I assured them that all was well, shooed them out of cameras line of sight and snapped a shot of Louisa’s name as it scurried across the scoreboard. Another grand picture for the scrapbook!
As an aside, some poor souls were not blessed with my manual dexterity. A woman on the other end of the field was sent to the hospital after getting hit in the head by a line drive (http://www.daytondailynews.com/sports/content/sports/daily/0617dragons.html). Hopefully she is okay.
Later in the evening Louisa made local TV with the sign she and Kathy had made: Today’s my birthday! on one side, GO DRAGONS! on the other. Kathy, still watching from home, got to see it all. The TV announcers wished Louisa a happy birthday, but omitted comment on her golden-handed father.
The game went into extra innings and Louisa and I took some time to visit the gift shop. George Foster was at the game, and was scheduled to sign autographs. My first specific memory of George was a game-winning home run in the umpteenth inning to beat the Atlanta Braves somewhere around 1977. My other vivid memory of that game was my Uncle Jim and Aunt Liz faithlessly rooting for whichever team was batting in the hopes of a quick end to the game.
George was almost alone since the game had gone long and was still in progress, so I had him sign my ball while regaling him with the tale of how my life had almost come to an untimely end. I figured that as a former major league player he would have a deep and personal appreciation for what I had gone through. Although outwardly he seemed to chide me for being a sissy, I know that he was truly impressed deep down.
He happily paused for a picture with Louisa, located here: http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/Academy/8596/lou_foster.jpg
By this time, three of my five fingers were as stiff as the stadium hot dog buns, leaving me ill-prepared to properly communicate with the downtown drivers on my way home. Alas.
Unfortunately, the Dragons were unable to pull out a win, due largely to a misplayed ball in the top of the eleventh inning by the right fielder. Guess he wasn’t watching the first base side, upper deck, seat 10.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)