Rip my PS apart, please!
Posted: Fri Sep 09, 2022 7:59 am
Though the sun was barely peeking through the clouds, I could smell the [redacted for privacy] simmering. It’s the dish of Italian-America, more ritual than mere sustenance—a velvety, heady concoction taking center stage on our table every weekend. Even in my pre-dawn haze I knew the drill. I groggily plodded downstairs and tugged on the shaky lightbulb overhead. My fingers inched for the familiar coldness of silverware and bone china. Instead, they landed on something else: my grandfather’s 1944 naturalization certificate. As I looked at his kind smile in that faded photograph, I had little idea that I was staring into my future.
Three years later, the woman sitting across from me tapped a perfectly lacquered nail on her mahogany desk, the cadence of her fingers matching the ticking on the clock across the room. Between us sat a pile of paperwork, the culmination of over three years’ worth of meticulous record gathering and translating. These documents were the physical manifestation of my family’s multigenerational, multinational history. It’s also what I would use to claim my birthright Italian citizenship. The painstaking work of compiling these records, some of them dating back to 1890, and cross-referencing them with family lore was engrossing. I spent hundreds of hours poring over dusty volumes sagging from the weight of time in city archives, courthouses, and clerks’ offices. Now, all that stood between me and my goal was this consular officer and her stop-sign red fingertips—a roadblock personified.
Getting to this appointment and gathering my case file was a marathon. At times my progress was hindered. At others, I backtracked after engaging the wrong processes. Through these occasional setbacks, however, I learned the quirks of immigration law both here and in the “Old Country.” Now, sinking into the leather club chair at the Italian Consulate in New York, I was confident that my hard work had paid off. The consular officer, however, had other plans. “This won’t do,” she scowled, pushing the stack towards me. A single letter discrepancy in one document had me out of the office moments later, standing on Park Avenue in a confused heap of disappointment. I was bewildered as to how I had missed this detail.
Determined to find another way to achieve my goal, I soon learned about bypassing the consulate and applying directly in Italy. So, I changed course. I saved up the $10,000 I needed over the course of a year, working full-time while attending college classes at night. I bought a one-way ticket, bringing me and my plethora of documents to the door of a town clerk’s office in [redacted for privacy], Italy. It was here that my application was accepted without incident. My persistence had paid off. Three months later, I had my coveted Italian citizenship.
I decided to stay on and began helping foreign family members of native Italians do the same. Slowly, word spread that there was an American in the province who knew how to navigate the obscure process of securing an Italian passport by descent and would help others at no cost. People began sending me their family trees and asking questions about requirements. I found myself handling three to four cases at a time, providing guidance in exchange for a cappuccino or croissant. As my time became more limited and demand increased, I realized this could be a viable career. Slowly but surely, I built a book of clients and helped hundreds of people become Italian citizens. Today, I am a successful consultant with a team of three. Each day, I turn my clients’ heritage—their family stories, sacrifices, and pride—into something tangible: an Italian passport.
But there are times when I must send clients away. Regrettably, there is only so much I can do without being a lawyer. For example, I can’t file a petition to unseal a birth record in New York state. I’m not allowed to obtain court orders to amend records or certify a person’s identity. I can’t advise on certain aspects of the citizenship process or represent clients in court seeking redress against unfair processing times. Making my clients’ dreams come true is my calling, and law school will ensure I never have to send anyone away. Looking towards a future in which I’ll continue to help others, I am eager to take the tools I’ll gain in law school and turn them into tangible results for real people. As my sauce simmers on my own stove today, I can see future me hanging my law school diploma on the wall—right in its place of honor next to that faded and rippled, but treasured, naturalization certificate from 1944.
Three years later, the woman sitting across from me tapped a perfectly lacquered nail on her mahogany desk, the cadence of her fingers matching the ticking on the clock across the room. Between us sat a pile of paperwork, the culmination of over three years’ worth of meticulous record gathering and translating. These documents were the physical manifestation of my family’s multigenerational, multinational history. It’s also what I would use to claim my birthright Italian citizenship. The painstaking work of compiling these records, some of them dating back to 1890, and cross-referencing them with family lore was engrossing. I spent hundreds of hours poring over dusty volumes sagging from the weight of time in city archives, courthouses, and clerks’ offices. Now, all that stood between me and my goal was this consular officer and her stop-sign red fingertips—a roadblock personified.
Getting to this appointment and gathering my case file was a marathon. At times my progress was hindered. At others, I backtracked after engaging the wrong processes. Through these occasional setbacks, however, I learned the quirks of immigration law both here and in the “Old Country.” Now, sinking into the leather club chair at the Italian Consulate in New York, I was confident that my hard work had paid off. The consular officer, however, had other plans. “This won’t do,” she scowled, pushing the stack towards me. A single letter discrepancy in one document had me out of the office moments later, standing on Park Avenue in a confused heap of disappointment. I was bewildered as to how I had missed this detail.
Determined to find another way to achieve my goal, I soon learned about bypassing the consulate and applying directly in Italy. So, I changed course. I saved up the $10,000 I needed over the course of a year, working full-time while attending college classes at night. I bought a one-way ticket, bringing me and my plethora of documents to the door of a town clerk’s office in [redacted for privacy], Italy. It was here that my application was accepted without incident. My persistence had paid off. Three months later, I had my coveted Italian citizenship.
I decided to stay on and began helping foreign family members of native Italians do the same. Slowly, word spread that there was an American in the province who knew how to navigate the obscure process of securing an Italian passport by descent and would help others at no cost. People began sending me their family trees and asking questions about requirements. I found myself handling three to four cases at a time, providing guidance in exchange for a cappuccino or croissant. As my time became more limited and demand increased, I realized this could be a viable career. Slowly but surely, I built a book of clients and helped hundreds of people become Italian citizens. Today, I am a successful consultant with a team of three. Each day, I turn my clients’ heritage—their family stories, sacrifices, and pride—into something tangible: an Italian passport.
But there are times when I must send clients away. Regrettably, there is only so much I can do without being a lawyer. For example, I can’t file a petition to unseal a birth record in New York state. I’m not allowed to obtain court orders to amend records or certify a person’s identity. I can’t advise on certain aspects of the citizenship process or represent clients in court seeking redress against unfair processing times. Making my clients’ dreams come true is my calling, and law school will ensure I never have to send anyone away. Looking towards a future in which I’ll continue to help others, I am eager to take the tools I’ll gain in law school and turn them into tangible results for real people. As my sauce simmers on my own stove today, I can see future me hanging my law school diploma on the wall—right in its place of honor next to that faded and rippled, but treasured, naturalization certificate from 1944.
