This time last year, we were in Rome pleading with the Anagrafe to accept my family documents and application for citizenship via jure sanguinis so that we could continue to live there. But Rome wouldn’t have it. They turned me away with a ridiculous list of discrepancies and that was what I thought was the end of my pursuit for dual-citizenship.
We returned home to the Pacific Northwest, rolled with the punches, got jobs, a house, the norm. After 11 months, I just recently came to terms with the good life I have. So it figures that on an ordinary August day, after a long day of work, Nick and I walked out to check the mail and this beauty was in the box:
It’s my official letter announcing that I am now an Italian citizen. Only a year late, but I’m officially recognized and in the record books of San Marco dei Cavoti, from where my great-grandfather emigrated in 1912. Now what do we do with it? Life, your timing is comical.