Friends of Judy
Driver’s License
Karen Shea on Driver’s Licenses
E
very few years each of us must make the trek to the DMV to get a new picture for our driver’s license. We all talk about it — the aggravation of the time it takes — the frustration with the sitting, trying to pose and hearing the click just before you are ready.
Then the wait until the woman calls your name and hands over the chit of plastic which ends up encasing your soul. Somehow this simple license-to-drive with photo — just a proof of who you are — becomes more. We stare at the image—I’m older looking… this one is better/worse than the last… I should have/should not have smiled… I can’t wait for the next one/I want to keep this one forever. And somewhere inside the plastic, mixed with the holograms, is your soul—the formal identity somehow morphs into more. The driver’s license photo validates the person, but it also takes on a persona of its own, and so as every airport security attendant looks into your eyes and into the eyes of that encased image, you try to be THAT person to prove that it is you. How silly.
Karen Shea is a Friend of Judy