… and now it's actually affecting my personal life.
This summer on my birthday, my driver’s license will expire. This upcoming event has been in the back of my head since I worked on the REAL ID bill in the Maine state legislature in 2008. What started as a rejection of the federal program that will create a national ID card ended as a new set of requirements for obtaining a driver’s license in Maine.
I tend to be scattered in my personal life. I like to excuse this behavior because it’s relatively harmless, and I would rather spend my time defending civil liberties than cleaning out my car. Some personal life responsibilities are no joke, though, and I try to stay on top of those – paying my bills, returning library books, donating to great advocacy organizations. Included in this list is having appropriate identification, like a valid driver’s license. Whether it’s because I want to drive up north to observe a racial profiling hearing or buy my parents a nice bottle of wine for their anniversary, I need to have a driver’s license. And of course, if I happen to be pulled over while driving, having an expired license would certainly cause some confusion at best and penalties at worst.
Like some people I know, I’ve moved around a fair amount. My father was in the Air Force, so I lived in five different states and two different countries before I was 18. After graduating from Windham High School, I lived in 4 different states before moving home and joining the ACLU of MAINE staff. In the course of all this travel (which maybe is more than what most experience), my birth certificate seems to have been lost.
So when Maine passed new restrictions on its driver’s licenses, one of which is proof of legal presence in the country, I realized I would need to obtain a copy of my birth certificate before my birthday in 2010. This week, I started making calls. I was born in Bakersfield, California, which is in Kern County. In theory, with a public notary and a computer and printer, I can print a request for my birth certificate, sign it before a notary and mail a check and the form to Kern County Records, where my birth certificate should be.
That’s in theory. In practice, I have had to navigate a truly bureaucratic disaster. My father is not my birth father, but rather my adoptive father. So after I was born, I think around age three, I was adopted, my birth certificate was changed to reflect my adoptive father, and my last name was changed to reflect my ancestors. The unfortunate consequence of this lucky life event is my birth certificate went through an elaborate bureaucratic shuffle, which I will now have to navigate so I can have a valid driver’s license in Maine.
All of this is really frustrating, but in the end, I’m aware of how fortunate I am. Both of my parents are still alive and well, and can tell me where I was born (I didn’t know until this week). I have the know-how to ask the right questions to get the papers I need. I have the means to pay for the paperwork that needs to be processed. The hospital where I was born hasn’t burned down, and I’ve interacted with some pleasant public servants.
Getting my driver’s license this year has been much more stressful in comparison to obtaining my first driver’s license inthe state of Maine when I passed the driver’s exam at 16. Funny how things change, all because of an unfunded mandate from the federal government…
This summer on my birthday, my driver’s license will expire. This upcoming event has been in the back of my head since I worked on the REAL ID bill in the Maine state legislature in 2008. What started as a rejection of the federal program that will create a national ID card ended as a new set of requirements for obtaining a driver’s license in Maine.
I tend to be scattered in my personal life. I like to excuse this behavior because it’s relatively harmless, and I would rather spend my time defending civil liberties than cleaning out my car. Some personal life responsibilities are no joke, though, and I try to stay on top of those – paying my bills, returning library books, donating to great advocacy organizations. Included in this list is having appropriate identification, like a valid driver’s license. Whether it’s because I want to drive up north to observe a racial profiling hearing or buy my parents a nice bottle of wine for their anniversary, I need to have a driver’s license. And of course, if I happen to be pulled over while driving, having an expired license would certainly cause some confusion at best and penalties at worst.
Like some people I know, I’ve moved around a fair amount. My father was in the Air Force, so I lived in five different states and two different countries before I was 18. After graduating from Windham High School, I lived in 4 different states before moving home and joining the ACLU of MAINE staff. In the course of all this travel (which maybe is more than what most experience), my birth certificate seems to have been lost.
So when Maine passed new restrictions on its driver’s licenses, one of which is proof of legal presence in the country, I realized I would need to obtain a copy of my birth certificate before my birthday in 2010. This week, I started making calls. I was born in Bakersfield, California, which is in Kern County. In theory, with a public notary and a computer and printer, I can print a request for my birth certificate, sign it before a notary and mail a check and the form to Kern County Records, where my birth certificate should be.
That’s in theory. In practice, I have had to navigate a truly bureaucratic disaster. My father is not my birth father, but rather my adoptive father. So after I was born, I think around age three, I was adopted, my birth certificate was changed to reflect my adoptive father, and my last name was changed to reflect my ancestors. The unfortunate consequence of this lucky life event is my birth certificate went through an elaborate bureaucratic shuffle, which I will now have to navigate so I can have a valid driver’s license in Maine.
All of this is really frustrating, but in the end, I’m aware of how fortunate I am. Both of my parents are still alive and well, and can tell me where I was born (I didn’t know until this week). I have the know-how to ask the right questions to get the papers I need. I have the means to pay for the paperwork that needs to be processed. The hospital where I was born hasn’t burned down, and I’ve interacted with some pleasant public servants.
Getting my driver’s license this year has been much more stressful in comparison to obtaining my first driver’s license in
