The other day I was in the bank trying to get something notarized and I sat there thinking to myself what a hassle it all was. In order to teach a class for a university, I have to provide a lot of information that I am legal to work and that I am who I say I am. They want someone to sign and use their stamp to verify that they saw my passport, birth certificate and driver’s license information, and then signed my name right smack dab in front of them.


This is to teach a class. I understand that you don’t want fake people teaching a class, but if I have been qualified to teach and taught the class for 25 years or so, it seems like the university might take it easier on me.


Don’t get mad at me on this next one… I need all these forms of identification to work, but I don’t need any to vote. I can just tell them who I am. Voting is important. I can say that now that we are out of the political season. Did that get a chuckle? We are never out of the political season, are we?


Daddy used to say, “It is what it is.”


The other puzzling bit of information that came out of all this paperwork was the date of expiration question. Not a problem on the passport; I can tell when it expires or that it already has expired. Not a problem with the driver’s license, I can see when it expires. And I can tell you that I do not want to go to the Department of Motor Vehicles and get another one. I would rather have three root canals in one visit.


The date of expiration that I found the most troubling was the one for birth certificate. Think about that. I read the question to the lady with the official stamp to say I was there signing my name… My answer was, “My birth certificate doesn’t ‘expire’ until I die.”


The lady looked puzzled and then she agreed with me. She looked even more puzzled, when I asked her, “Do you think August 13, 2028 is a good answer on when my birth certificate expires?” She then asked me why I would want to predict the day that I will die.


I told her that it was very easy for me to come up with a date to die because that particular date would the 60th reunion of Alabama Governor George Wallace touching my head in the city park with my Mama holding my hand and standing there smiling all proud. I wasn’t 100% positive that was the day or the year that he touched my head – but it came out easy. I went on to explain that I was pretty sure that the reason my hair has been falling out through the years was that he (Governor Wallace) touched my head when I was a little boy.


She kind of shook her head in one of those “you’re not right in the head kind of ways.” Maybe she didn’t know who George Wallace was. About the time I started explaining to her that my two brothers had full heads of hair and George Wallace never touched their heads – she got up and left me alone in her office.


Maybe she went out to research who George Wallace was or to verify that I had a bank account or something, but when she came back she said that they don’t notarize those types of forms any more.


The form has a letter and a number and she did produce a memo saying they can’t do it. In other words, they have been told that they can’t say or not say that I am who I am. Goodness gracious that is confusing.


From time to time, we all get confused with who we are and who we are not. I’m glad I can’t remember the exact date Governor George Wallace touched my head, I don’t really want to know when my birth certificate expires.


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