Like a giraffe going after a low-lying leaf, The Customs Agent bent forward from the waist and angled his head in the direction of my father’s open car window.
“What is your citizenship?” he asked.
“United States”, my father responded.
The Custom Agent’s eyes panned around my father’s luxury Buick Riviera, landing first on my brother, Brian, who was next to my father in the front seat.
“United States”, he answered, locking his eyes hard onto those of the custom agent.
Back seat, right. “United States”, my brother, Kevin, droned.
This was a rare occasion for my ever-rebellious brothers, who found themselves forced into acting respectfully towards authority. We all knew that one false move, one shifty eye or one, erroneous response could sweep us away forever, deep into the Canadian hinterlands and we’d never be seen or heard from again.
Back seat, left. “Yes”, I said, my eyes focused on the middle of the custom agent’s forehead. “Er…I mean…the United States.”
The Customs Agent, satisfied with the results of his first round of questioning, moved on to round two. “Do you have anything to declare?” he looked at my father.
This was the “adults-only” question.Continue Reading