Departure

I feel blessed. I've read horror stories of international couples struggling for years to get their partner a visa, spending thousands of dollars on immigration lawyer fees, or getting denied entry to the UK at Heathrow and booted onto the first plane back to the US, regardless of its destination. It was a relatively painless and simple process for me. A couple birth certificates, documents confirming I was not adopted, $233, and several passport photos later a red booklet with a coat of arms on the cover showed up on my doorstep. It was through complete luck that my mother was born in the Kingdom and that citizenship is transferable. Had that not been the case, grad school or the M word would been my tickets in.

Another 4 months later, I breezed through customs at Heathrow. Other than a "Cheers", the immigration officer didn't utter a single word to me. He scanned my British passport, handed it back to me and waved me on. I was concerned I'd be the subject of intense scrutiny, much like American citizens are when we return to the States. I had a whole list of prepared responses to the IO in case he started inquiring about my nationality  and why my accent did not sink up with the passport. But alas, all for nought.

By the way, dig the unprentious blog name? I considered using some witty, pun filled title but opted out when I decided I didn't want to look like a complete d-bag.