I’m an American Guy Now

Of late, a question has been rattling around in the vacant corners of my mind: When, precisely, in the course of transmutation, does a person who was not born in America truly become an American?

Having been through the process of leaving my country of birth, establishing myself as a legal permanent resident in the United States, and then receiving American citizenship, I can conceive of several useful answers to this inquiry. At present, though, my preferred conclusion is rather eccentric: From what I can tell, it happens 14 years after one emigrates, at the bar of the Buffalo Wild Wings restaurant at JFK’s Terminal 4.