Three days ago marked an anniversary of my own personal day of independence. Thirty years ago, on July 6, 1976, I became an Australian citizen and legally forfeited my U.S. citizenship.
There is a long story in anyone's life concerning the geography of birth, and mine, I suppose, begins with my four grandparents who migrated to the United States from East-Central Europe around the turn of the 20th century. To them America was truly the land of golden opportunity, and they were keen to take up citizenship and become American in every sense of the word.
My parents were both born in New York, as was I (Brooklyn, to be exact), though we all moved to Los Angeles when I was an infant. I spent my youth in that sprawling southern California city that has variously been called "Tinseltown," "A Cemetery with Lights" and "The Place Where the Future Happens First."