To Whom It May Concern
Yesterday, I got a call from my mom, who asked me to write a letter to her immigration lawyer. The purpose of the letter is to establish the fact that my mom did not get married to a man in Canada simply to gain citizenship or a Visa to live there legally. It is to prove that her relationship is legitimate. So the lawyer asked that she have some friends and family write letters as proof. She asked me to write one, and with her permission, she allowed me to post what I ultimately sent to her lawyer. Here it is:
To Whom It May Concern,
I am writing this letter in reference to Cathy Snow, and more importantly, on my perspective of her relationship to Shawn Snow.
My name is William Charles Castengera. Cathy Snow is my mother. Please indulge me for a moment, as I must backtrack to push forward. My name is not William Edward Castengera. That is my father. My name is not William Joseph Castengera. That is my Grandfather. And my name is not William Mark Castengera. That is my son. I mention this as an aside, only because I have often been confused with my father, grandfather, and son. Someone, early on in my family, imagined that it would be a wonderful tradition to name all of the first born boys William. In addition, they also believed that to properly honor the mother of the newborn boy, they would assign a middle name of the mother’s father to the boy as well. Since my name is William Charles Castengera, this indicates that I am the first born boy to a mother who had a father named Charles. Charles was my mother’s father’s name. Makes sense right? Who am I to circumvent such a deep tradition? Unfortunately, this tragically confuses the postmaster and he cannot deliver letters appropriately. It seems to confuse creditors as well, and I am constantly telling the various credit bureaus that I am not my father. He has some debt.
On August 7th, 1977, United Sates, in Jacksonville, Florida, at Saint Vincent’s Hospital, I was born. God, I was handsome. I imagine my mother, then Cathy Castengera, holding her newborn son in her arms, the trauma of childbirth for the second and final time over. How could one possibly think that they could do better after me? Not a chance.
Anyway, I grew up. My mother and father divorced when I was in ninth or tenth grade, I don’t really remember. Perhaps I blocked it out, since it was a difficult time in my life. Who wants to see their parents get divorced? I surely didn’t. The adult me understands it. My father just couldn’t commit after the death of my sister. He wanted another baby, and my mom knew she could never replace her beautiful girl. They were at an impasse. He left. She’s better off for it.
I grew up some more. I met a girl. We visited my mom, in Jacksonville occasionally. One time I was there in particular, she mentioned that she had met a man over the computer. This was approximately in 2001, and despite computers being well established household commodities at the time, I was still skeptical that a person she met online could be a viable companion. I thought he was a predator. My mom allowed me to communicate with him online. I went home, and continued to communicate with him via the internet. I was still skeptical.
Fast forward. My mom has been living in Canada for thirteen years. She is married to a man that takes care of her as she deserves to be taken care of. I have not had the ability to visit her yet, not with three small children to care for, but I plan on it. Soon, in fact. I have spoken to Shawn Snow many times on the phone. I have pictures in my photo albums of my mom and Shawn together. I have been collecting them for years. I send and receive Christmas presents back and forth. We really need to do something about the amount of money that requires (I think the postmaster is still mad about the confusing name situation).
Ultimately, my mom is happier than she ever has been before. For the last thirteen years, she has been there with Shawn. Shawn likes meat and potatoes. He does not like seasoning on his food. Shawn has a son, Shane, from a previous marriage. His son, ironically, works at Best Buy, which is only ironic because I work at a retailer that considers Best Buy as a major competitor. Shawn got wool socks from me one year, a few years back for Christmas, because he works outside. Last year I sent him a large thermos. Shawn likes the outdoors. My mom and Shawn have a cat named Spooky. Shawn wakes up in the morning so early, it makes me cringe to think about. He doesn’t even care. That is simply the time he wakes up. He’s a morning person. I guess what I’m saying here is that my mom and Shawn have been together for a long time. Shawn has become family. He is my step-father. I have known him for thirteen years. To put this into perspective, I have a daughter who is eleven years old. She has never not known Shawn.
The reason, ultimately, that I’m sending this letter is so that I can see my mom again. I want her to visit. I want her to see her grandchildren grow up. She needs that. And my kids need their grandmother. My mom is concerned that if she leaves Canada, she won’t be allowed back in. I hope this letter facilitates her ability to move freely from Canada to the United States. I respect the laws that dictate this possibility and hope that my children will have their grandmother soon.
Regards,
William Charles Castengera
Written by Bill C. Castengera Author of Shift! Purchase Shift! on Amazon! 
