That basically sums up my life right now, except for the exciting "spy" part. Naturally, as a professional peacemaker, I have no inclination to aid and abet, never mind incite, acts of violence against anyone, least of all the US Government or my fellow citizens. This should go without saying. But also notice that there is just not a lot of time in there for me to even go to the grocery store or get the laundry done, never MIND make mischief that could rise to the level of International Intrigue. Little did you know...I am The Subversive Single Mom.

Once in a blue moon, I do manage to make time for myself, to do something fun -- something just for me. And it was that sort of evening I had in mind a couple of weeks ago when I went to Montpelier, VT, after work hours to attend a meeting for Displaced Southerners that was being held at the Kellogg-Hubbard Library. I am originally from Atlanta, so I thought it would be a hoot to attend.

As I was getting out of my car there in the library parking lot, my cell phone began to ring. I answered.

"Hello?" "Hello. Yes, is this Patricia McIntosh?" "Yes." "Patricia, this is Chris Destito. Is this a good time to talk?" "Well...ummm...sort of. Who are you? And why are you calling?"

I was wracking my brain, wondering if I should know this person's name somehow -- was it one of the software vendors we've been working with lately? I couldn't place it.

"I'm with the FBI, and we were wondering if we could talk with you." "With ME? (laughing) No, seriously -- who is this?"

At this point I was scanning the parking lot for hidden cameras, wondering if I was being punked...

"This is Chris Destito with the FBI, and I realize this is probably the weirdest phone call you've ever gotten..." "You could say that. But -- okay, let's say you really are with the FBI. I would need to see ID, of course, but let's say you are. Why are you calling me? I mean, did I do something wrong that I'm not aware of?"

I was a little smart-mouthed to that TSA agent when I went through customs on my way back from Jamaica in February...Is that what this is about? I was wracking my brain at this point, but coming up with nothing.

"No, ma'am. This is not about anything you've done. We just think you might have information about someone else that could be useful to us. It's really probably totally inconsequential, but we would like to speak with you, today if possible. We're in White River Junction right now. We could meet you at your home if you'd like."

That threw up red flags for me all over the place. They're in White River?? So these people know exactly where I live already -- and they want to come into my home? Uh uh. No.

"I'm sorry -- I'm not comfortable with that. How about you meet me at my office instead?" (Office. Daylight. Lots of people around. Much safer.) "Sure!" he said, "We can be there in an hour." "Oh, gosh -- I meant tomorrow -- like for coffee? Or lunch? Does it have to be tonight? I was about to go into a meeting."

Because by gum not even the F-B-damn-I was going to stop me from enjoying the company of my Southern Sistren...

"Well, yes ma'am, if you wouldn't mind." (sigh) "I'll be out of my meeting around 8:00. Can you meet me here in Montpelier?" "Certainly. We'd just really like to discuss this with you as soon as possible."

At this point it was after 6:00 in the evening and my Displaced Southerners meeting was about to begin soon. I really had to go, and so excused myself from further discussion, agreeing to meet these fellows in the foyer of the library at the appointed time.

The gathering at the library was lovely and genteel -- a comical mix of ladies who, by appearances could have passed for Vermonters any day, but whose origins were betrayed (like mine) the minute they opened their mouths. We sipped sweet tea and nibbled pecan pie and talked about how we miss properly prepared grits and red-eye gravy, but I digress.

Once my meeting was beginning to wrap up, I put in a quick call to my parents to tell them about this strange phone call I'd received. My stepfather is a former CIA officer, and his response to this news, as relayed through my mother, was nothing short of unbridled panic:

"DO NOT GET INTO A CAR WITH THEM. DO NOT LET THEM GET YOU ALONE. STAY IN PLAIN SIGHT OF OTHER PEOPLE."

I was mildly nervous before, but my stepfather's reaction gave me pause. My mother insisted on calling me back in five minutes to make sure I was okay. My stepfather was ready to put in a call to the Emergency line at Langley.

So there the FBI agents were, waiting for me in the entrance to the library as I emerged from my meeting. Per my original request, Agent Destito provided ID and – yes indeed – these guys were the real deal. 100% genuine FBI. Though I still would not have voluntarily gone anywhere with them, we shook hands politely and Chris did his best to reassure me I had nothing to fear, which I appreciated.

At this point my cell phone rang again.

It was my mother, bless her heart.

"Are you okay? Is everything okay?" "Yes Mom, it's fine -- I don't know yet why they want to talk with me, but it's okay. I think they're harmless."

It didn't make sense to tell her that it was also abundantly clear to me that these guys, if they had to, could take down anyone -- or maybe everyone -- in the library should a fight break out. I doubt they'd even need the guns I'm sure they were carrying...somewhere. Agent Destito's demeanor was that of a practiced relaxed stance, but I could tell there was a tightly coiled spring inside.

"Okay, well if I don't hear back from you in 30 minutes I'll be calling back. And you let them know that if you don't answer, steps will be taken..." (chuckling) "Okay Mommy - and thank you for worrying about me. I think it will be okay. I promise I'll call you when we're done talking okay?"

After some preliminary explanation about the various reasons why the FBI might come a-knockin' on the door of someone like me -- someone whose life is about as exciting as memorizing the begats in Genesis from Adam all the way down to Abraham while Lawrence Welk music plays in the background -- he finally came to the point.

Apparently it had come to their attention that I had received several phone calls from Pakistan, or at least from a phone number that originated in Pakistan, and they wanted to ask me what that was about.

You see, I have a Muslim friend from Pakistan -- Moazzam Ali Khan -- who calls me from Beijing on occasion (because that is where he is studying Chinese culture and language in his graduate school program), and courtesy of those phone calls, from his cell phone to mine, the FBI had apparently flagged me as a "person of interest."

Once this dawned on me, I literally laughed out loud, which was probably a completely undignified, if not inappropriate, thing to do in front of the FBI and yet... it was my authentic response once I realized what they were there to question me about. After all, my connection with Moazzam is SO completely innocent.

Back in 2003, when I was recruiting supporters for Howard Dean's presidential campaign, there was a lot of emphasis placed on having a diverse base of supporters. There were Dykes for Dean, and African Americans for Dean, and Mormons for Dean, and Latinos for Dean, and so yes...there were also Muslims for Dean, and I had volunteered to inquire among various Muslim student groups online as to whether they were familiar with Gov. Dean's policies, and if so, might they be inclined to support him, etc.

It was in one of these groups that I met Moazzam. Though not a student in the US himself, at the time that I met him, he was completely captivated by US music and culture. He wanted nothing in this world more than to come here. So in the meantime he emailed me saying he figured having an email buddy in the US might be the next best thing to being there. He was in Islamabad at the time, working on his MBA. And folks, this guy is the sweetest, most nonviolent, kindhearted fellow, and over the years we have become good friends. We never EVER talked politics -- his country's or mine -- because it just did not seem either relevant or wise to do so, and we had a myriad other interesting things to discuss.

So I talked with these gents from the FBI at some length and told them the story of how Moazzam and I came to be friends, and what a sweet person he is, and how innocent it all is, and how there’s no "there" there for them to find but I would be happy to talk with them further if it would help, etc.

And they said, no, this would be a matter of "nothing to see here - case closed." And I hope that remains so.

As you may well imagine, Moazzam was chagrined to learn that I’d been approached by the FBI courtesy of his phone calls. We’d actually joked, in the past, about the government listening in on occasion. After all, Pakistan's government was notoriously intrusive under Musharraf, and the PATRIOT Act has been in effect here for several years now. Courtesy of that Act, our right to privacy has pretty much gone out the window, at least as far as the US government is concerned. And needless to say, as a citizen of Pakistan, he has, in the last 6 years, developed an increasing disdain for imperialist-style US foreign policy. We don't need to go to Pakistan to find that sort of disdain though. There are plenty of us right here who feel the same, but that doesn't mean we're gonna go all Timothy McVeigh on the nearest piece of Federal-Gummint-owned real estate.

I do want to add, Chris and his (mostly silent) partner were supremely nice guys – very friendly and decent and clearly just trying to do their job – but dammit it still sticks in my CRAW that I can’t talk to a friend from Pakistan without the FBI stalking me and then finally calling my cell phone to set up a time to grill me about it.

You see, it turns out that they'd staked out my house for days, but I was never home during the hours they were looking for me, so the phone call was an act of desperation. Pressing the boundaries of cheekiness, I told them that my mole in their organization had kept me well-informed of their comings and goings and I had thus been able to elude their grasp thus far but now, doggone it, he took a day off and they'd finally caught up with me. They laughed, though I could tell there was that little part of them that was wondering, "Wait...was she serious about that?"

Right.

I am The Subversive Single Mom.

Yes, I know it's bizarre. But what can I say? I guess everyone is a suspect these days.

Dr. Arnold Heller, if you're out there somewhere, I hope you read this and feel proud -- like yours, my name is now apparently on file with the FBI. As you warned us in AP History class, it doesn't take much to qualify. Apparently you don't even have to be photographed at an anti-war rally with a "Down with the USA" sign in your hand anymore. You just have to have a friend from an "unfriendly" nation who calls you once in a while.