Being an Exile

 I don't dare enter the United States, not because I gave up my American nationality, but because of what I post on social media. 

I think back as a kid to Firestone Theater on Tuesday night television and watching the play, Man Without a Country about Philip Nolan based on an Atlantic short story. Nolan was sentenced to stay as a prisoner at sea after saying he never wanted to hear, sea or read of America again. Bedtime was immediately after the program.

The reason I gave up my nationality was that I wanted to live in Switzerland the rest of my life. Because of U.S. FATCA laws making it impossible for me to have a normal financial life almost anywhere the world, I had little choice.

Prior to Trump, as an ex-American I could enter the U.S. although I did have to swear I never helped the Nazis in WWII, although I was still a toddler at the end and I'd never kidnapped a child either.

We've known people personally going on business who have been detained and read more news story about other detentions.

Pictures of my beloved Boston thrill me. I will never look at the ducklings again. I've loved them since my kindergarten teacher read Make Way for Ducklings. I still see lots of Facebook photos with the ducks dressed in costumes.

I would like to walk Boston Common and gaze at the State House Dome knowing my grandfather had done some of the engineering on its repairs. I also remember lobbying for the ERA on my lunch hour there. The memories stay in my head, not my eyes.

Friday nights were family nights in Harvard Square: dinner, bookstore, street musicians, a great start to the weekend.

Rockport and Bearskin Neck. Half my given name Lane comes from that area.

Each day listening to the news from several different countries, I feel if I'm watching a very bad movie acted by amateurs that is throwing not just my birth country into chaos but the world.