I used to drive from Seattle to Vancouver for the weekend a few times a year, in the eighties, back when terrorism was something that happened on page six. Dri

I used to drive from Seattle to Vancouver for the weekend a few times a year, in the eighties, back when terrorism was something that happened on page six. Driving in to Canada, their border guards were always pleasant, smiling and welcoming. They made me feel like they wanted me to visit. Driving back to the US, our border guards seemed to feel like I was a criminal. I felt unwelcome in my own country. I felt "wanted." I actually had to sit on the Group W bench once. The guard asked me a question, and I didn't hear him correctly. So I said "what?" I was polite (knowing who I was talking to). "Out of the car." And they searched my car. Because I said "what?"