In a small manilla envelope, I have two dark blue booklets. Under the front cover of one reads: citizen of the United States
. In the second, similar words: an Australian citizen
. The slight discrepancy in those titles makes all the difference.
Despite the glamorous connection I feel with Jason Bourne, the owning of two passports means that I belong to two nations. But sometimes I feel neither of them belong to me.
I have never felt comfortable answering the question, Where are you from? In Washington, DC, everyone asks everyone where they are from, because no one is actually from DC. Everyone is from somewhere else. It’s a simple question. It should elicit a simple response. But I stumble. Well, my family lives in Indiana, but I grew up all over the Midwest, and before that I lived in Australia. I was born there, actually.
But where am I from, really?
I don’t know.
With Tony after the Catalyst Conference in October
A smile that spreads across his freckled face at the mention of his kids speaks more of Tony Dungy’s greatness than the trophy he gripped in his hand after becoming the first African American coach to lead a team to Super Bowl victory.
The quiet football giant slides into the back of the pickup, his lanky frame filling up the backseat where clothes and sports paraphernalia are strewn. “This reminds me of my truck,” he comments sonorously, fastening his seatbelt for the 25-minute drive to the Atlanta airport.
(Read full story here at Inside Out)