The school sent out invitations we had to be there,
I would have tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t dare,
It was a most festive occasion the invite did state,
At last the children would receive after a sixteen year wait,
Their own identification cards to keep with them night and day,
And I wondered how long it would take my son to lose it by the way,
I sat and did my crossword puzzle, as the other parents dabbed their eyes,
And I couldn’t feign emotion even when Ben was called to rise,
After all there was nothing about his ID number that did it for me,
Just a string of random integers, not chosen personally,
This number which becomes more important than your actual name,
Stated to prove who you are, this numerical string your claim,
And I realized whose fault it was and that we should accuse,
The Ministry of the Interior for not letting us choose,
Our favourite and lucky numbers in a string of nine,
Like the ones we select for the Lottery would also be fine,
To connect and personalize in order to remember how we are numbered,
At least we should have a say if we can’t avoid being lumbered,
And then I would feel proud to hear what number my child had selected,
The number now a real identification accessory in which his personality is reflected.
whileiwalk 