Weekly Blog Four - Lodgement

The appointment was made, rather hopefully, yesterday for today. Perhaps I anticipate it being worse than it is, but a slight lump settles in my throat as I approach the local passports office. The variation and degrees of treatment that I have heard of in fables and stories from far off previous applications has un-nerved me. My palms begin to sweat and my hands start to shake. I fear I look guilty of... frankly I’m not thinking of what... I figure I simply look generally guilty of something nebulous... it could be stealing an apple from our next-door neighbour Mr Granger’s tree (well they are scrumptious) OR it could be of Axe murdering the entire population of our local nursing home and urinating on their poor dismembered corpses (simply to answer that age old nursing home chestnut – “Where’s that wee smell coming from?”). I don’t know? I press the elevator call button and note the lump in my throat has now grown to cut off the airway and my throat now feels as dry as a dead dingos donga. Do I feel woozy or is that the rush of the elevator?

This is for my Pink Peril, so I gird my loins (does anyone do that these days?) and enter the office, right foot first (because I’ve been told that’s lucky), press the requisite buttons to take my place holder ticket and immediately get engrossed in the perils of travelling with Passports DVD on the screen. The terror of having your passport lost or stolen makes me wonder why we even bother leaving our houses, let alone going abroad. I’m so engrossed I miss hearing my name called, or perhaps I’m finding yet another reason to procrastinate.

In the end I am greeted by an extremely friendly Marilyn, (with a Y). She begins the tick-off, I begin the excuses. I rushed out of the office in a hurry to get here, so I forgot my ID, can I bring it tomorrow? We’ve been told this section may or may not need to be filled in by my partner, that’s why we haven’t signed here... er... or here.

Long story short, I’m sent home, with a rubber duck stamp and a “Needs to try harder – More work needed”, written in red ink across the top of my application. Everyone on this journey has been so kind but especially Marilyn (with a Y). I count myself lucky. I guess I got full points for effort because I wasn’t given an immediate F-fail. Did I mention she’s a sweetie.

Because we want to declare ourselves parents (in spite of the law?) we need to fill out the B11 stat dec, stating the surrogacy, the surrogate “legal” mother’s last know nationality, our belief that we are actually parents (if not legal ones), the fact that our children arrived here as citizens by decent from yours truly – oh and we can’t do ONE form for each of the Pinks and both sign, oh no that won’t be good enough for Canberra if there are questions... we need to do one each for each. Four statutory declarations. I have the smug satisfaction of knowing that as bio parent... I’m bound to get a C (I mean, not an A like a legal parent, I’m being graded on a very biased curve here; but at least a pass).

R____ on the other hand may only scrape through with a D, which may mean a catch-up ‘summer class’ but hey whatever gets us the damned passports huh?

Sweet Marilyn (with Y) informs me that all these need to be filled in ‘just in case’ Canberra have any questions, better safe than sorry huh? Better ‘overkill’ to be sure than doing merely what’s necessary. Better to not actually have a stated, publicly posted process for our particular circumstance to save the ‘recircle’ time... just in case, she informs me sweetly as she puts the steamroller into reverse for an ever so gentle second go over my deflated sense of worth and ‘right to privacy’ as a tax paying individual. From a cuckooed father I’ve become a ‘just in case’ parent. No wonder my throat nearly closed up on the way in.

On one level I can understand the departments precaution on this issue and would be happy to have our lives peeked into if it once and for all established our parentage of our children: unequivocally. But this is not the case. This is but one department that I may have to deal with, within government on all levels and that’s before we start to deal with non-government organisations such as schools. In the main and on the whole, in everyday life these things don’t matter greatly, mostly no-one asks because they don’t need to know... but it’s the dire and extreme circumstance, when my Pink Peril, my partner and I NEED the system to be there for us, that it’s most likely to crack under the strain... precisely the point at which it shouldn’t.

Anyway the darling Marilyn (with a Y) sets up another appointment for a similar time tomorrow and promises to keep the steam roller putt-putting on idle for me. Lovely. A lunch hour would have been nice but... Come to that several of my missed lunch hours would have been nice. Being acknowledged as the legal parent of my Perils would have been nice. Having forms that fit would have been nice, really so much in this world could be nicer, couldn’t it?

P.S. Upon return visit – another lunch hour, I finally manage to lodge.