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Gail’s story – Canadian
I’M A CANADIAN! Not because my Mother’s family were Huggenots and fled the borders of France and Germany because of religious persecution way back in the 1600’s.
Not because my Father’s family were Acadians who chose to live under British rule and remained in Nova Scotia.
Not because I examine everything I buy or eat to check for Canadian made as I know elsewhere won’t have the quality, child labour laws or the environmental laws that regulate pesticides, herbicides, DDT’s and much more.
Not because I am free to be who I am, to say the things I do, to travel
anywhere, to go to any church or not, to rise to whatever heights.
It is because I was watching our Canadian Hockey Team singing “Oh
Canada” at the world games with tears of Pride in their eyes. I
jumped mentally into their wells of tears and I could feel the pride,
the puffed chests and the erectness of their spine!
I have experienced the same feeling over and over again at Expos’s Olympics, etc. as our Canadians stand erect with that self same pride!
Yes, we are finally showing our true colours - Red Maple Leaf on a white background .
Eric’s
story – American
My wife and I LOVE Canada and Canadians. Our favorite city in the world right now is Vancouver, B.C. It's beautiful with mild weather, but most importantly, we can really RELAX there.
The stereotype that Canadians are friendlier has a lot of truth to it. They are more down to earth and connective with strangers -- more like I remember small town U.S.A. in my youth. To me, this is the mark of a civilized culture. In the U.S. nowadays, it's all about what I call "corporate courtesy" (fake friendly) -- people who really don't care about you at all (apart from their own family and few friends). When we're in Canada, the whole experience makes us feel energized and positive towards others. Not that we haven't met some rude people in Canada, but it's not the same kind of rudeness that we experience daily in the U.S. And yes, I do find Canadians to be more mature than their southern neighbors.
My wife and I are very friendly, sociable type people. When we express ourselves to people in the U.S., more often than not the "bottom drops out" so to speak. It's almost as if people will hate us more for being friendly and interested. Imagine asking your regular, familiar, coffee barista, "How are things?" and having them look at you like you're crazy! Imagine going into the same place every day and having people act like they've never seen you before! My wife and I have lived in European cities with millions of people. From our experiences, big cities in Europe still have more of a "village" dynamic, especially when compared to life in much smaller cities in the U.S.
We believe that the essence of these differences between Canada and the
U.S. has to do with somewhat different philosophies of what a society
is, how people see themselves in connection with others (i.e., as fellow
humans working together or as fierce competitors). Politically, Canada
suits us much better than the U.S. So, it shouldn't be surprising that
we have such strong, positive feelings about Canada and wanting to live
there. The U.S., for all it's propaganda about being a "compassionate
people," is a country of haters. Ironically, right before 911, I
was writing letters to people about just how hateful the modern day U.S.
America had become. The strong patriotism that followed 911 was so easy
for Americans because of their actual hate for each other. What else do
they have if not their blind faith nationalism??!!!! Just look at the
lack of social systems and funding for the American people, and you will
quickly see how Americans really feel about each other.
Maggie - Canadian
I have just finished reading 12 pages of your stories and find myself moved to tears.
I was born in Toronto, was raised in a village about 60 miles from here and returned to Toronto in my adult years to work and live. My Father was German and my Mother Scottish so I was brought up with British/European flare while at the same time fully immersed in Canadian life.
I cannot possibly do justice to the stories I have just read, but can only say that it is heartwarming to know that so many of my fellow Canadians feel about this country as strongly as I. I truly cannot imagine living anywhere else in the world so chose to stay in Canada, the country that I love.
When I travel, whether it be to Europe or the U.S., as I arrive back on Canadian soil I experience an overwhelming feeling of relief, security and safety - I am home again.
Am I a proud Canadian - you bet!! Never more proud then when we declined to take part in an unprovoked, unjustified and illegal war. The world needs countries like Canada who prefer to take a diplomatic stand and work with the International Community to solve issues such as Iraq. Sadly, the most powerful nation in the world prefers to solve problems on a unilateral basis, the rest of the world be dammed. I am thankful that we resisted the temptation and stuck to our guns. I believe that history will show that we made the right decision.
Marilyn's
story - a Canadian
I was born in Nova Scotia and deeply instilled by my heritage. My grandfather
came from Windemere, Lake District in England. Our family genealogy uncovered
that we have 2 prime ministers & 1 other politician in our family
tree. I chose to visit England and remained there after marrying a man
from Plymouth, Devon.
While bringing up my family in England, our young son complained of 'pain'
in his leg resulting in an orthopedic condition that the specialist at
Mount Gould Hospital said: "He must have a good education so that
he can have a 'sit-down' job as he could possibly be in a wheelchair by
the age of 18."
The prospect of high grade levels that would advance our son to university
in England was dim. We chose to move to Canada where our children could
build a life for themselves with endless opportunities.
I am proud to brag that six of our seven children have graduated from
either University or College and achieved their goals: a Dentist, Executive
Chef, Chief Marine Engineer, Tourism Coordinator, Electronic Engineer
with Canada Post and a Psychology Major.
The Nova Scotia countryside, where I have retired, has a coastline and
friendly small towns are similar to
those of Devon, England. I am glad that we have chosen Canada for our
retirement home.
Kasra's
story - born and raised in Iran and moved to Canada at age of 13 years
old.
If tomorrow all the things were gone that I have worked for all my life, and I had to start all over again, I'd thank my lucky stars that I'm living in Canada.
I am proud to be Canadian, because I know that my flag stands for freedom. I know that many soldiers bearing my flag have died to defend freedom all over the world. I know that if given the opportunity, many would volunteer to do the same again. Not because we are war seekers, but because Canadians, more than any other people in the world know that oppression and tyranny should not stand. A nation built by those fleeing repression and despotism all over the world, a nation built by those seeking democracy and a better life, Canada's flag flies in all continents as a symbol of freedom, be it gained through war or through peace.
From East to West, from the height of the Rockies to the shores of Newfoundland, from the glory of Quebec to the majesty of Victoria, Canadians have opened their arms to the world time and time again. They have said if you intend to work hard and build a better life for yourself, if you intend to live a free life and help others, you are welcome to share this land.
Canada is a nation built by ambitious, by the industrious, and by the freedom lovers. It is a nation with unlimited potential- a nation that may become the peak of civilization. Canada has the opportunity to become the premiere defender of freedom, prime source of innovation, and the pinnacle of patriotic entrepreneurial spirit. Canada is a young country, and its gift is its potential.
Sure, like all those in their youth Canada has made some mistakes. She may have gone in the wrong direction here or there, she may have erred once or twice, and she may have had a binge or two. But, Canada can overcome the hangover of her mistakes, and that's what counts at the end of the day.
To all the pessimists, I say, Rome was not built in one day. It took a great deal of hard work and honour to turn Rome's potential into greatness. I for one sleep happily under the flag of my adopted home knowing that there are Canadians out there who are willing to work hard to make my nation, our Canada, the greatest country on the face of this planet.
That is why I choose Canada, and soon enough so will the rest of the
world . O, land of blue unending skies,
Mountains strong and sparkling snow,
A scent of freedom in the wind,
O'er the emerald fields below.
To thee we brought our hopes, our dreams,
For thee we stand together,
Our land of peace, where proudly flies,
The Maple Leaf forever.
Stacey's
Story
FESTIVAL LIT A CANDLE IN MY HEART
Essay written by Stacey Bernstein & aired on CBC Radio “Sounds
like Canada”
December 19, 2003
I was born in Saint John, New Brunswick and lived there until I was ten.
When you come from a small town, especially one that’s consistently mistaken for another – St. John’s - you take great pride in the attributes that put it on the map.
I grew up hearing everyone and their uncle defending Saint John, famous not only for its pungent pulp mill odor and the great wonder of Reversing Falls but its former residents. People often boasted, “It’s been home to some very famous people…the late MGM mogul Louis B Mayer,( who was born in Russia) BUT grew up in Saint John; Canada’s leading industrialist, the late K.C. Irving (who was born in Buctouche) BUT grew up in Saint John; actor, Walter Pigeon and Hockey’s favorite fan, Mr. Stompin’ Tom Connors…”
When you’re a kid though, who cares? I felt famous for being Jewish. Mine was one of a hundred families that made up a once thriving post-war Jewish community of 300. Over the years people moved away in search of greener economic pastures and more exuberant Jewish communities…But the seventies were an interesting time for me.
I was the only Jewish kid on my street; the only Jewish kid in my school. Everyone knew I was Jewish----there was just no getting around the name Bernstein. We were the only ones in the phone book.
It was a rude awakening when it hit me that I was different. It happened in 1975. I was six----it was a cool November day, when all the kids on my street (we were a gang of 5) were excitedly flipping through the great gift-giver gospel of the time, the Consumers Distributing toy guide.
I remember approaching my pals, attracted to their squeals of delight, “yeah and I’m going to get a lemon twist and a pop-a-matic….” Something or other. “and my Mom said that when Santa comes we’re gonna’ leave oatmeal cookies and…”
Sounded great to me: “hey guys, when Santa visits me I’m…” I was cut off.
“My Mom says Santa doesn’t visit you cause’ you’re Jewish…”
Ouch. I still remember the lump in my throat and the burning of tears welling up in my eyes. I hated being different. All I could think of was that Santa just needed an updated map. Surely finding the only Bernstein in Saint John wasn’t an impossible task. After all, this guy could travel the world in a night. No such luck.
But, Mademoiselle Surette knew where to find me. I was in her grade one class at King George French School. I’ll never forget the day she asked me if I would share the story of Hanukah with my class. Gulp.
My Mom thought it was a great idea. She offered to make latkes. All I wanted to do was run for the hills. The thought of 40 pairs of eyes watching me talk about the festival of lights terrified me. It was a 2000 year old story about this guy, a Syrian King called Antiochus who tried to force the Jews to give up their religion. Judah Maccabee, the super-hero of the time, led his people in a fight to drive the Syrians out of Israel, and the Jews won back the Holy Temple of Jerusalem.
I tried to wrap my head around the magic of the tale: the services in the temple; only enough oil to burn in the menorah for one day; the great miracle that let it burn for eight.
Somehow, at the age of six, the story of Hanukah didn’t hold the same drama for me as Rudolph overcoming ridicule of a nose that became his greatest glory.
I never did share the story of Hanukkah with my class. I didn’t want to stand out. It’s one of my few regrets.
I think about it from time to time living in a city like Toronto, so rich in cultural diversity---and being part of a Jewish community that is so lively. A few years ago when I traveled to Saint John for a family event, I learned that the hundred or so families living there when I was 10 had dwindled to thirty. There was no longer a Rabbi to serve the community. People were talking about closing the synagogue. I found out that my old Hebrew school had been converted to the Saint John Jewish Historical Museum. When I visited, I was overcome with emotion. Never before had I been in a museum where I actually knew people featured in exhibits, me included.
I learned that I appeared in the last musical to be performed in the Jewish community. Many of my friends ask me what it was like to spend my formative years in such a small struggling Jewish centre. I look back with fondness to a region that didn’t have big catering companies and kosher butchers. All great celebrations---births, bar mitzvahs, and weddings saw women of the Jewish community flocking to the synagogue kitchen to make their special desserts and bread---with the exception of rye bread which came in specially ordered with kosher meat from Montreal. When I wasn’t in school, I used to go with my Mom to help out, and lick battered bowls and beaters.
I cherish my Mom’s tattered recipe books where every recipe begins with the name of one of our dear Saint John Jewish friends or relatives----Aunt Fritzie’s Farfalle, Pearl’s Putterchuchen, Ethel’s Kichel, Carol’s Kneidlach…some have passed on. Some have moved away.
Now some 20 years later, I share these recipes whenever I can and the customs and holidays that accompany these Jewish delights, cholesterol and all. As a child all you ever want to do is fit in. Saint John didn’t allow me that safety net.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t hide from being Jewish. But it gave me something else. While Toronto has allowed me to blend in easily in a large community, I have no interest in hiding. I’d much rather pay tribute to my roots, and revel in the values and traditions they instilled in me.
Happy Hanukkah everyone!