Sometimes I feel like an immigrant in my own native America. I use an extra "u" in "humour" and "neighbour" and only realize the error of my ways when Word makes an angry, red squiggle line.
I answer in Celsius when someone asks the temperature, just to be shot a disappointed look.
I say, "eh," at the end of a statement and am predictably and mercilessly mocked for it.
I crave poutine after a solid Saturday night on the town and settle with a sigh for ordinary fries.
For all intents and purposes, I make a half-decent Canadian, but alas, I left before swearing oath to Queen and Country.
It wasn't so long ago I was struggling to spell like they do, tell temperature like they do and make proper use of their sing-song affirmation at the end of a sentence.
"Did I get it right this time, eh?"
I even warmed to watching ice hockey...for fun.
Seven winters. That's how I count my time in Canada. So my chronology is a little macabre, but for 26 years my blood ran warm in the mild Fahrenheit temperatures of Oklahoma. Not even a puffy Canada Goose down, fur-lined jacket could stem my disdain for a season that seemed to drag on out of spite.
When I explained to an American customs agent that I was entering the border to stay this time, she greeted me with an enthusiastic "welcome home!" but my heart was betwixt. Home, I realized in an instant, was just a backwards glance over my shoulder. What lay ahead was something I loved, but barely recognized.
To be continued...
I answer in Celsius when someone asks the temperature, just to be shot a disappointed look.
I say, "eh," at the end of a statement and am predictably and mercilessly mocked for it.
I crave poutine after a solid Saturday night on the town and settle with a sigh for ordinary fries.
For all intents and purposes, I make a half-decent Canadian, but alas, I left before swearing oath to Queen and Country.
It wasn't so long ago I was struggling to spell like they do, tell temperature like they do and make proper use of their sing-song affirmation at the end of a sentence.
"Did I get it right this time, eh?"
I even warmed to watching ice hockey...for fun.
Seven winters. That's how I count my time in Canada. So my chronology is a little macabre, but for 26 years my blood ran warm in the mild Fahrenheit temperatures of Oklahoma. Not even a puffy Canada Goose down, fur-lined jacket could stem my disdain for a season that seemed to drag on out of spite.
When I explained to an American customs agent that I was entering the border to stay this time, she greeted me with an enthusiastic "welcome home!" but my heart was betwixt. Home, I realized in an instant, was just a backwards glance over my shoulder. What lay ahead was something I loved, but barely recognized.
To be continued...
2 comments:
Everytime I watch Stossel I think of you behind the scenes with Ezra. I think you'll be back in Canada for good eventually. It's a parallel culture and in spite of the high taxes and cold weather, Canadians are a different breed and perhaps a better one. Keep in touch with as many Canadian friends as you can as often as possible.
Thanks for the comment, Anonymous. Who might you be? ;)
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