Lexington, KY - Last month I found myself in the unfortunate position of having to produce my birth certificate so I would be on the up-and-up with my employer and the Department of Homeland Security. Unfortunate, not because my citizenship was seriously in question, but because I had no idea where my birth certificate was located, and I knew I would be spending a lot of quality time on the phone with a lot of various people, with various administrative titles.
In the end, I think I would have rather dealt with a Homeland Security agent. I called the hospital where I was born. I called the state's Department for Public Health. I called the Cabinet for Health and Family Services. I was directed to a website where I could order a certificate, which, along with making me nervous about divulging so much personal information, had a seemingly endless supply of fees I had to agree to pay before I could legally prove that I was indeed a fellow countryman.
In the end, I did what I should have done at the inception of this Sisyphean goose chase: I broke down and called Mom, who has everything from my first grade report card to my student loan information (and my birth certificate) conveniently on file.
It's a lesson I've had to learn and relearn my entire life, and I can only imagine how better off I would have faired if I would have just admitted it when I was younger, and now: mother knows best. At the onset of any problem -
financial, social, metaphysical (though maybe not political) -
call Mom. It's always a last resort, and yet I know it should be the first. How much embarrassment would I have been spared and money would I have saved if only I would have listened to Mom? Nobody is going to give me better advice than Mom -
all she wants is for me to be happy. What better counsel can you have?
I always knew that Mom was young when I was born, but when I read "19" written on that birth certificate after "Mother's age," I was a slightly taken aback. Ten years younger than I am now and already burdened with a whopping load of responsibility I still can't comprehend.
Sometimes I feel guilty that I may have, through no fault of my own, of course, robbed her of the best years of her life. While I spent my 20s dodging any sort of commitment save for having the time of my life, she spent hers committed to me, making sure I was having the time of my life. I hope she can find comfort knowing that I did, and still do. I don't know how she did it, but I'm glad she did.
And I'm glad she still keeps track of my paperwork.