Being Canadian 

Growing up in Texas with a father who is a Canadian citizen, I felt very Canadian growing up. I felt I loved cold weather, scoffed at people who didn’t know what a loonie was or hated maple syrup. There may have even been a conversation or two in middle school in which I faked a Canadian accent and told people I was born in Ontario. Now, living in Canada, I realize I have a lot to learn. I see this most glaringly when it comes to raising my children. I have no idea what I am doing. This afternoon we attended a birthday party for Mya’s best friend at a skating rink. Not only was I the only parent who didn’t skate at the party, I was the only one who didn’t even own a pair of skates. I didn’t even mention that I have no idea how to skate. Mya always seems to be improperly dressed for most winter activities. She was the only child without a helmet and ski parka skating at the party. Her gloves always seem to be the shortest in her class and it was Mya who told me she needed taller snow boots. My good friend here told me once that as a child she dreamed of having a skating rink in her back yard, I grew up not knowing such a thing exists (which is does, at least two houses on our block have a skating rink in their front yard). So I am learning. I am giving her teachers excellent holiday presents hoping they’ll give me cold weather secrets, I am watching other kids and working on my “eh’s.” I love it here and I have a passport that proves I’m Canadian, but it may take me a little while to feel comfortable at a skating themed birthday party. 

  

We also found a wonderful place this week where it’s always warm and there are singing birds and soft smelling flowers, our local conservatory, open 365 days a year!

  

 

 

  

  

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