Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Rigmarole

Age and occupation

Two tiny things.

That’s all I want right now.

An age, and an occupation.

I’ve asked for it a few times, and been denied each time. Why?

I’m entitled to it by state law.

It’s supposed to be kept safe in a permanent record for me. I shouldn’t have to go through this rigmarole just to get it.

By the way, don’t you love the word rigmarole? I so rarely get to use it, but it’s so apt.

Webster’s defines it as a complex and sometimes ritualistic procedure. It makes one think Noah Webster needed to petition the state of Pennsylvania for his non-identifying information. Repeatedly.

It is a ritual. My petition is a holy document. I read it again. And again. And again. I have the sections memorized the way some people can recite bible verses on command. I print it out, take it to get notarized, send it off, and wait to be denied. Same result as praying.

Here’s the church I send it to:




This holy place holds all my mysteries. Or at least a clue. Just one clue.

In 1963: My father’s age. My father’s occupation. One other person knows, but she’s as silent and unreachable as God.

0 complaints from ingrates:

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