My carry-on luggage: fear

Fellow passengers eyeball you. The mild anxiety you experience as you approach passport control explodes into full-blown fear. You flip your passport to the right page, hoping to get the humiliation over with quickly. You try to look nonchalant. US officials have deported Canadians to countries they haven’t been “back” to in years, so you know being a landed immigrant won’t do much for you.

These stories hammer at your head while you struggle to maintain your composure. A stone-faced ticket-taker examines documents a Canadian wouldn’t ever imagine having to produce: letters from employers explaining the nature of my responsibilities, and my own disposition, hinting at why I would probably not fit the terrorist profile. You learn to carry these after being asked to produce proof of employment by immigration officers. You are never officially instructed to have these letters on hand, but if you get asked for additional proof of your identity or the nature of your job, your entry hinges on your having these documents.

The last trip I took to the US was in January when we went to Miami in search of some sun. While a close friend packed minute swimsuits and pondered the sunprotection factor of our chosen suntan lotion, I sat frazzled on the floor because I’d misplaced my character certificates and a package of recent articles. She couldn’t understand the panicked search that ensued. She couldn’t grasp the nuances of my mother’s fears as she helped us locate the missing pieces of paper, without which I would not have left for the airport. As a blue-eyed blonde, she could never know the indignity of being profiled as a potential security threat as you take off for a fun-filled vacation. And I am glad, because I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.