I have seven children. Sure, you can let that sink in for a minute. Take your time.

Recently, my youngest son, Gilbert, returned from service in Italy. He had been gone for years and we were naturally thrilled to have him return home. In fact, we had received weekly updates from him as to how he was doing and we planned to return to Italy with him in order to see the people that he had been working with.

After his return, we planned on traveling to Italy with him. Included were to be myself, my wife, Cathy, and our daughter, Rachel. We would spend about 2 weeks and visit Florence, Rome, Taranto Naples. We have friends in these places and some of these places are where Gilbert served. We had booked and paid for a rental car, hotels, and B&B’s along the way. Our friends were expecting us.

One of the first things that you must do when traveling between countries is to pass through passport control. This was well organized at the Rome airport. But, Cathy, Rachel, Gilbert and I were all directed to different officers. Cathy and Rachel went through quickly. I did, too. In fact, my immigration officer didn’t even take his eyes off of a pretty girl standing in line behind me as he stamped my passport.

However, on the other side of the control, there was no Gilbert.

I knew that Gilbert went to an officer right beside me, so I went back.

He was still talking to the Immigration Officer.

“Is there a problem?” I asked in really good Italian.

“Who are you? Are you this boy’s father?” The Immigration Officer asked in broken English.

“Why, certainly,” I continued in Italian, “Is there a problem?”

“Yes,” the man replied. Then he turned and talked to my son in Italian.

“Don’t lie to me. I know when somebody is lying to me.” He said. “What were you doing in Italy for all this time without permission?”

He went on to tell Gilbert that, according to his passport, he had just left Italy.

“That is true,” Gilbert said. “I’ve been in Italy for the past two years.”

“But, also according to this passport, your permission to stay in Italy expired in May 2018,” The Officer continued. “If that is true, you have been here illegally for almost a year. What have you been doing?”

Gilbert explained the purpose of his service, his attempts over the past year to extend his stay legally, and his return to the US just the week prior.

Then he talked with me in English as I was also standing by my son. “You’re son had permission to be in Italy until May 2018. That means that he has been in Italy illegally for 289 days. He cannot come back into Italy for 90 days. I’m going to check the official data base. If it confirms what this passport says. . Well, we will see.”

“Wait here.” He told my son in Italian.

The blood rushed out of my face. I felt weak and about ready to faint. My tongue and mouth suddenly had no liquid. Dry.

“Wait. What?!?” I thought to myself. I was having a hard time trying to make sense of it all.

I went to find Cathy, who had retrieved our luggage from the carousel by this time.

“There’s a problem with Gilbert and immigration!” I blurted out. “Pray as hard as you know to pray. This is serious!”

And with that I went back to be with Gilbert.

Soon, the Officer returned with the verdict.

“I’m sorry,” he said to me, but this time in Italian. “I’ve looked in the database. It says what I told you. Your son’s permission to remain in Italy expired almost a year ago. There is nothing in the database that says that he made any attempt to get permission to extend his stay. I don’t know what he was doing.”

He continued, “He cannot enter the country for 90 days. I have talked to my supervisor to see if I could make an exception in this case. I’m sorry, there is nothing we can do.”

“So, what will you do with him?” I asked.

He answered, “It’s already too late to get him on a plane today. I have talked to American Airlines. He will be put on the first plane out tomorrow morning and will have to return to the United States.”

And with that, he turned to my son and curtly said, “Come with me.”

And with that, he took Gilbert away from us. Right there. Right before my eyes.

I stood there for a moment. Not believing what had just happened. Then, I quickly hustled back to Cathy, who was waiting for word about what was going on.

I explained the situation to her as best I could and then started to make phone calls.

I called the US Embassy and talked to a US Official there. Basically, he told me that neither I nor Gilbert was important enough for the Embassy to intervene in Italian immigration matters. There was nothing they could do.

I also called the administrative offices that controlled Gilbert’s service. They told me that they knew Gilbert had been having a tough time getting his permission extended, but they had continued to work with the Italian government. They had someone who was working with them who is involved with Italian law enforcement. They would call him and see if he could do something.

Of course, these phone calls took some time.

The Immigration Officer came out again to talk with me. He said in Italian, “I’m really sorry. I can tell that your son is a good boy. This kind of thing almost never happens to Americans. Give me a minute and I will go back to the detention center and allow him to make and receive phone calls.”

He went back to the detention center and then came out. “It’s OK. You can call him now.” He said.

I immediately called. “Hello?” Gilbert answered. “Are you OK, Son?” I asked him. “Yeah,” he said.

Gilbert is not one for a lot of words. But, we did get to talk. I told him of everything we were trying to do. I told him I loved him. I told him that everything was going to be all right.

“Dad,” Gilbert said, “If they do end up sending me home, you and Mom and Rachel just go on and visit Italy without me.”

“No, Gil,” I countered. This trip was all about seeing the people and places that you grew to love while you served here. If you go back. We all go back.”

With that, we ended the phone call and I went back to work. There was so much to do. So much to think about. Decisions, decisions, decisions.

Then, we got the final word from the administrative offices. There was nothing that they could do either. Gilbert would have to return home. That phone call felt so. . . final.

I went to the American Airlines office and talked with the manager on duty. He was aware of Gilbert’s problem and said that he was already booked out on the morrow. “Could I get us all together with him on that flight?” I asked. At first, he had the necessary seats. Then, they got filled. “I was able to get your wife, Cathy, booked on the flight.” He said. “You and your daughter come tomorrow and we will see what we can do.”

And with that, we had done everything that we could do at the airport.

“What do we do now?” Cathy asked me.

“We go to our hotel and we visit Rome,” I said.

So, Rachel and I had to wait for our luggage to be returned. As we sat, I cancelled everything that I could. For some things, I got our money returned. For others, I got a part of it returned. For still others, we just ate the cost. What else are you going to do?

Once our luggage arrived, Rachel asked me, “So, what do we do now, Dad?”

“We get a hotel near the airport and we go tour Rome,” I said.

That day in Rome with Rachel was fantastic. I was able to get a nice hotel with an airport shuttle. We put our things in the room and took another shuttle into Rome. We did so much. The Forum. The Coliseum. Via Appia. And a bus ride tour all over the city. I loved being with my daughter. It was a great Daddy-Daughter date.

Cathy had dinner in Rome. Rachel and I had a day in Rome.

American Airlines was able to get Rachel and I out on a plane the next day. Upon our return, we just kind of all sat around moping. We were all in a serious funk.

Gilbert took off for two weeks to Montana and to Washington State to visit two of his sisters.

Rachel took off to Cedar City to re-start her life.

Cathy and I went to Bryce Canyon and took a helicopter ride over the canyon. (But, that is another story.)

It has taken a couple of months to really come out of this funk. I cannot imagine the feelings of Central American parents at the US border who have been taken from their children without the communications and other resources that we had. I cannot imagine how I would feel if my son had done something wrong and been kept within the judicial system of Italy. As the Immigration Officer told us, this was a “no foul” kind of situation. All he has to do is to stay out of the country for 90 days. Then, he can re-enter for a visit, no problem. I have heard of kids that have done stupid things, like drugs, while overseas. They get caught and they get entangled in the country’s legal system for years.

We were lucky.

I don’t have a good lessons learned from this experience. We were ignorant of what Gilbert’s status was. Had we have known, of course, we would have postponed our trip or made other plans altogether. For example, had we have traveled to Italy while Gilbert was serving and “picked him up” in Italy, he would not have exited and would not have had such problems with a re-entry.

But, but, but. It doesn’t really matter because it is what it is.

We were flexible. We had the resources to change plans in a heartbeat. We stayed together inasmuch as it was possible. We didn’t get angry or mean. We tried to be kind and grateful for every kindness and professional courtesy provided to us. All in all, the Immigration authorities were professional and caring. Even though there was nothing they could do. The folks at American Airlines were professional and caring and bent over backwards to help us as much as they could.

And we have a story to tell. There aren’t many Americans that can say that they have been deported. From Italy.