The message I was about to deliver boomeranged around and smacked me in the head.
Ivars and I were excited about our return to Ohio. Anticipation occupied my mind as I rehearsed my presentation and imagined the people who would attend my workshop early the next morning at a large autism conference.
“Your books aren’t allowed in our country.”
The words stung. My chest tightened. My muscles stiffened. My face constricted. My husband’s voice broke through my shock, telling me to stay calm. His words sounded a million miles away. I was far beyond the possibility of calm. Beyond the point of no return.
For almost a decade, we had traveled in the U.S. with my self -published books with no issues. The explanation at the border was always the same: “My wife is speaking at an Autism conference and she has a table to sell her books.”
This time the response was very different. Two hours of waiting for strangers to decide that I was allowed in the country,...