On a day when I'm feeling extraordinarily proud to be an American, I couldn't help but think about the many times I've shown strangers my navy blue passport, which through its color alone, reveals my nationality. At airports and border crossings, I find myself trying to catch a glimpse the colors of everyone else's passport covers while I tuck mine inside pockets and plane tickets. (Some mysteries should be preserved, at least for a few moments.)
How appropriate that today my husband applied for a new passport, which should arrive within two weeks. Applying for a passport is a patriotic act, a statement that you appreciate the homeland enough to leave it. And come back. That said, I wouldn't mind having more than one (there's nothing wrong with having an extra quiver), but no matter how much I think back, I can't seem to remember growing up in a foreign country.
