December 18, 2008, was the day of my naturalization Oath Ceremony. The timing was interesting -- it was during finals week, and I had one exam left (I'm a college instructor). Also, my mother, who is visiting from Germany, had just arrived (the visit had been planned before my date with "La Migra" was set).
On the day of my naturalization interview I had received a green sheet of paper with instructions where to appear (the Scottish Rite Temple) and what to wear (coat and tie for male applicants, dresses for female ones), as well as advice on how friends and family members should dress and behave. Follow me below the fold to find out how it went.
As instructed by the green sheet of paper, I arrived at the Scottish Rite Temple (to this day I'm not quite sure what exactly that is and why the ceremony was held there) two and a half hours before the actual oath. The first thing I noticed was the huge line of people that snaked around the building. After I parked my car (for $5), I joined my fellow applicants, a very diverse crowd with very diverse ideas of what formal attire means. In front of me was a middle-aged gentleman whose accent revealed that his "country of former nationality" (as the naturalization certificate puts it) is obviously the UK. He introduced himself as Tony. As it turned out, he, too, even though he was from England and English was the only language he had ever spoken, had had to take the same very basic English proficiency test as everyone else. Later he realized that he could have applied for a waiver -- not because of his native language but because he was over 55 years of age and had lived in the US for more than twenty years.
At this point, no one knew what the procedure was and where we were supposed to be. As soon as a person appeared who looked like he worked there, Tony took charge and asked what we were supposed to be doing. The immigration guy designated a line for applicants with blue letters of invitation and one for people with green ones while the guests of applicants were told to come on in.
I followed Tony to the green line, and after twenty or so more minutes, we were ushered into the building whose marble walls bore an inscription that told us this was the "Lodge of Perfection." Whatever. Before entering the ballroom where the ceremony took place, we had to hand over our Green Cards, which were stapled to our invitation letters and collected in a pile. Then we were seated in the order in which our naturalization certificates were to be handed out.
The remainder of the time until the ceremony consisted of waiting. Interestingly, no one bothered to tell us what to expect, and there was no printed program. Tony remarked that the event appeared strangely disorganized, even though USCIS must have done this thousands of times before. Even though our letter had admonished us to dress professionally and behave with the adequate decorum, the immigration officers were rather casual. Tony's interviewer, the lady who took up our Green Cards, was wearing a jogging suit and had ordered in a pizza. My interviewer, who turned out to be the highest-ranking local USCIS officer (I had kind of thought so, considering his casual demeanor around the applicants), was walking around drinking Mountain Dew from a bottle.
Then a military brass quintet appeared and played a variety of tunes, none of them of a military or patriotric nature (the ones I recognized by name included "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" and "Saint Louis Blues"). Afterwards three church lady-ish looking women appeared. Two of them represented the Daughters of the American Revolution and passed out small American flags. The third lady represented the Democratic Women's Caucus and passed out voter registration forms. We also received brochures about American national symbols.
The judge's arrival was preceded by the posting of the colors. The color guard consisted of very tiny ROTC high school girls with helmets that resembled shiny mixing bowls. The judge was seated behind a table on the stage. The table had a white table cloth on it and looked as though the judge was about to be served dinner. Then Officer Mitchell (my interviewer) came to a lecturn and answered the judge's questions concerning the eligibility of the applicants. Then he read off the countries that were represented by the applicants, who had to stand when they heard the name of their home country. Mr. Mitchell went in alphabetical order (there were people from over 25 countries), except for Mexico, which was called last and had by far the largest number of representatives. Tony's whispered comment: "I'm surprised they have any people left there." Out of the 300+ applicants, I'm guessing two thirds were Mexican.
When everyone was standing, we had to take the actual oath. Afterwards, the judge announced that by power of her office, we were now Americans. Just like that. She also announced that 70 applications for name changes had been granted.
The latter I found rather interesting. A former boss of mine had tried to persuade me to change my name to something more "American" and told me that "all" immigrants changed their names upon naturalization. Turns out it was only about 20% of my group.
Next was a video of G.W. Bush telling us that now we are just as American as the descendants of the passengers of the Mayflower and how proud he is to be our president. "Not much longer," Tony and I whispered in unison. Then came another video with waving flags and "I'm proud to be an American for at least I know I'm free" (that song still makes me want to barf, even though I'm an American now).
Then there were speeches by three new Americans whom Officer Mitchell had selected. Two young women (one from Mexico, one from China) delivered a string of cliches ending with a dead president quote (one Kennedy, one Reagan) and "God Bless America." The third speaker, a young man from Canada (probably with ancestors from India), was more original and addressed the duty and privilege of voting.
At this point my mother was rather disappointed. She had expected some graduation-type walk across the stage. Instead, we stayed seated and our certificates were handed out according to the "take yours off the pile and pass 'em on" principle. Then we had the option to have our picture taken with the judge. Since I hate standing in line and still had papers to grade, I decided to leave. I collected my mother and boyfriend and did just that.
So now it's been a little over two weeks since I've become an American. I don't think I've changed much, even though my mother would disagree. However, the differences between me and her are probably the result of the last seventeen years of my living in Texas, rather than a twenty-second (or so) oath of allegiance. I no longer notice the differences between here and my "country of former nationality" unless my mother points them out. Examples: unless they are high-profile celebrities who received death threats, no one in Germany would have armed security at a private party. Here it's part of renting a hall. Also, the posting of colors at any non-military event is unheard of. My mother thought it was beyond weird that it was done at an NBA game.
I have to admit that certain aspects of American/Texas cuisine I can still take or leave, but I no longer have the "WTF is that???" reaction my mother displays on a regular basis. So far, I still enjoy watching German cop shows on the Internet, I haven't unlearned my first and second language (English was my third), and I can still find other countries on a map. As of yet, I have not developed an irrational hatred of the French. Even though I am supposedly as American as anyone else (Dubya said so), I will never run for president or vice-president. I have, however, already applied for a passport.