ElementalMom

(Part 1 of this series of posts is here.)

Jason’s cousin Chris is the one who did the lion’s share of the original legwork to establish that Grandpa Bernardo never renounced his Italian citizenship, making this entire “Becoming Italian” adventure possible. Early on in the process, I contacted him on email for pointers on how to do this. And over the months, he’s been help and more help, mostly in figuring out what documents I really need and which I can probably skip, but also just in being soothing. When you’re dealing with four generations of births, marriages, deaths, and paperwork from counties and comunes both, it gets nutty, and it’s really easy to feel like you don’t have a handle on it. Add to that the fact that it’s not even my family; I’m getting quite the education on a towering history of family drama and romance.

Yesterday, Chris came by to sort through my accumulated paperwork, check it over, and see if he thought I was prepared (seeing as how he’s already completed the process and has citizenship). Within moments, we had each divided our nearly inch-thick stacks of paper into several stacks, and three checklists. Jason’s really not been part of this process; he has gone and signed papers when I needed him to, in the places where vital records are only given to a living descendant, but otherwise, he’s pretty much just having me do it. So when he saw the fruits of a few years of paperchasing spread across the table, his eyes got wide. And when Chris and I started trading notes on obscure facts about their family and arcanery about getting documents out of bureaucracies, they just got wider. It’s a bigger job than it seems like it might be, until you see it all spread out like that.

And it’s not a linear, checklisty kind of process. For instance, there are three different agencies that record renunciation of citizenship and acquisition of American citizenship. Chris was only able to get the records from one of them, Chris’s mother was only able to get one other one, and I was only able to get the third one. So much depends on what kind of day the person at the desk is having when you arrive, and whether they like you or not. It’s totally random. Between the three of us, we have complete records and total proof. There’s nothing inherent to any one of us that would make us unable to get a given record, and of course, we’re all asking about the same person’s record. It’s just a matter of the stars aligning.

I have made one tactical error: I got the apostilles before I photocopied the documents. Apostilles in California are stapled directly to the documents, a little bit offset, and then stamped off the edge of the apostille and onto the original document. Once you’ve acquired the apostille, you absolutely, positively cannot ever remove it, or it nullifies the apostille. So making my photocopies is going to be a PITA. Oh well, live and learn.

I also have waited way too long to get my translations done. Honestly, I thought I had time, and the days just snuck up on me. So as of Monday, I start the panicked, prayerful phonecalls in the hopes that some one of the Consulate’s approved professional translators will help me out in time.

But having said that, in the major ways that seriously count, I have done due diligence and then some. I’ve covered bases, even ones that I might not necessarily need to cover. I figure it’s always better to overprepare than underprepare. I’m also hoping that it’ll reduce the chance that the Consulate will punt our application for some undotted i or uncrossed t.

I keep saying “our application.” That’s not really the case. It’s only an application for Jason and the children, since this is jure sanguinis, “of the blood”, and I am most definitely of the marriage. So once we finish this and the application is accepted, then the fun begins, and another flurry of paperwork assembly, including fun stuff like an FBI background check for me, gets underway.

Beyond the mere facts of proving that you’re descended from Italian nationals, though, there’s a fuzzier, more human dimension to this process. I’ve bought dress clothes for the children; white button-down shirts and navy slacks for the boys, a pale pink dress with salmon and white chrysanthemums and a chocolate brown sweater for Aurora. I’m hoping to pick up little vests for the boys, still, but they’re harder to find than it seems they should be. Jason has polished his dress shoes, and I’ve got a dress picked out. I have heard of people showing up at their appointments wearing jeans and t-shirts, and I’ve also heard that those people’s applications take longer, sometimes years, to be approved.

There’s also a creative writing component. The first translator I contacted recommended that “since we Italians are passionate people” that our application would be viewed more favorably if we wrote a 1-page “love letter” explaining the heart of why we wanted citizenship. It’s harder than it sounds, to convey your reasons for doing such a thing, in one scant page. I have written, edited, and rewritten the thing over the course of months, and there are multiple drafts. I think I’ve finally nailed it, but I need to wait at least overnight to make sure. Once the thing holds still, I’ll post it here. Which means you’ll see it by 3 March, at least.

Related posts:

1. Becoming Italian — Part 1, the How
2. Becoming Italian — Why
3. Becoming Italian — An Evening Out

Tags: becoming Italian, Citizenship, Italian citizenship, Italy, jure sanguinis