Issues

Issues. We all have them, especially me. Uptight, anal, orderly - that's me in a nutshell. I really don't know how I function in society, 'cause if I get a whiff of anyone on the outskirts of propriety, I practically dislocate my neck giving them the stink eye. What can I say? I love rules and I want everyone else on the planet to love them as much as I do. Besides, if anyone is ignorant, confused or misinformed about the rules, I am more than happy to outline and review them...in paragraph form...with subtitles and footnotes. And if the rules happen to be vague or nonexistent, I nominate myself to be the author of them. Like I said, I have issues.

My license is set to expire on my 36th birthday. With a little more than three weeks to spare (to account for processing and mail time), I decided to go to the DMV today to renew my driving privileges. I gathered my documents of citizenship and proof of residency and headed over to the East Bay office. It was 4 p.m., shortly before closing time for the week, so I knew that it would not be a speedy visit. As I mentally prepared myself for the uncertain wait ahead of me, I climbed the enclosed staircase to the second floor office. The hall was musty and the air was stagnant. I tried not to breathe too deeply. I reached the top of the stairs at the same time a teenager exited the elevator. He was kind enough to let me enter the office ahead of him, for which I was grateful. I surmised his parents had taught him the rules of polite society; all too often I encounter teenagers who eagerly box me out for pole position.

I opened the glass door, greeted by nylon ropes guiding my path to Station 1. There were metal baskets lining the countertop with typewritten signs instructing me to fill out an application before I proceeded any further. The pens that had been chained to the bar-height counter were mysteriously missing, so I rummaged through my purse and found a 5 cent freebie from some attorneys in Massachusetts. Clueless with how I came into possession of this pen, I was grateful I had it even though I knew Grammy would be fired up that I took her pen. (Sidenote: When I returned home she let me hear about it too!)

I answered the questions on both sides on an eighteen inch form, affixed my signature at the bottom and moved to the end of the line. I surveyed those standing ahead of me and profiled the patrons seated to my right. I half expected the room to be filled with a chorus of Spanish dialects, and although my ears captured several conversations buzzing around me, to my surprise there was some undecipherable chatter a few bodies ahead. If my line of sight hadn't been directed to four feet above the ground, I would have missed the origin of my curiosity. A petite Asian family was making their way to the attendant, speaking furiously and with much intent. I took this opportunity to nonchalantly stare and see what America's newest friends were up to.

First, the teenage grandson of the group approached the attendant. He asked several questions, referencing his middle-aged mother with blank looks as she instructed him in her native tongue. He then moved to the side as his mother addressed the attendant. Fluent in English, she explained the purpose of her visit, to obtain driver's licenses for her elderly parents, both of whom are new to our beautiful land. She asked and re-asked the same questions as her parents stood in humbled silence. The attendant told the woman that she would have to go to the main office in Orem. She presented her parents documentation and persisted in her questioning. Eventually, the attendant motioned to the elderly couple to sit across from the camera lens.

Wait a second...did this course of events really just end in non-English speaking immigrants receiving driver's licenses? A few questions and a nod from an interpreter and we are ready to hit the open road? What am I missing?

Standing in a state of confusion, my mind ricocheted the possible consequences of this action. I also performed a quick mental review of the document that is nearest and dearest to my heart...our United States' Constitution. The following are two thoughts that stood out most in my mind...or the only two thoughts I could unleash in a public forum.

1. The last time I checked, all road and street signs are written in English, the official language of the United States of America. If this couple needs an interpreter to obtain a license, who is going to interpret when they're navigating America's roads? Although I've heard some hand gestures are universal, constantly changing construction zones on Utah's roadways are not. I cannot help but think this is dangerous and irresponsible of our government to allow those not proficient in English to operate a moving vehicle. English is readily available to all; I would encourage those who seek to assimilate into American culture to research church, civic and university opportunities available to them. Many of these programs are offered at little or no cost.

2. Driving is a privilege and not a Constitutional right. Therefore, it is not discrimatory for the state governments to be selective in who obtains a driver's license. Futhermore, I don't believe the state governments should be required to offer a multilingual system because doing so would be discriminatory; there are over 300 languages spoken in the U.S. If we accomodate Spanish or Japanese, then we would also have to accomodate Russian, German and every other foreign language to be fair to all of America's immigrants. If a person seeks to free himself from the chains of poverty in his home land, doesn't it stand to reason that profiency in the language of the host country would be essential?

As I attempted to stop my swirling thoughts and become empathetic to this family's situation, I could not help but feel compassion for them. It must be a frightening experience leaving everything you know and starting again in a foreign land. However, in order to live in a country free from chaos, compassion alone cannot be our compass. I realize that this couple was breaking no official law by obtaining a driving permit, yet I am severely bent out of shape about the lack of prerequisites and skills testing required. For reasons I mentioned previously, and for the additional concern of safety, I am disheartened how accomodating our government has become to all the immigrants of the world. Although I believe there is room and opportunity for all, we must be selective and thorough in our accomodations. If I traveled to a foreign country, I would be expected to enter via their laws and speaking in their tongue, however deficient I may be. I would not expect special treatment or feel entitled to privileges for which I do not qualify. I hope my faithful readers do not misunderstand my position - I love that America is the land of the free; I do not love that we have become the land of the freebie.