Seventeen years after she moved to this country from a mountainous little island in the South China Sea—it’s called Taiwan—my wife is now, as of this morning, officially and, I hope, irrevocably, a U.S. citizen.

Leaving aside all the reasons it took so long for this momentous event to occur—“You mean you don’t automatically become a citizen on getting married?!?”—I just want to say that I’m happy. Now, no matter how unfit a mother Jean proves herself to be, whether she leaves the baby in the stroller on the sidewalk while getting a perm at the salon or feeds the kid nothing but Count Chocula and American Spirits, the government can’t deport her. It can lock her up, sure, and fine her and draft her and make her sit on a goddamn jury, but she’s pledged her allegiance—she knew what she was getting into.

If only I’d known…