American Oddities

I’ve begun to have a little trouble finding blog topics about Canadian cultural characteristics. But, I think that is because I have stopped noticing what I perceive to be oddities of Canadian culture. That’s just it—I’ve stopped noticing. If I were to draw a graph of my transition between Canadian and American culture, I would be at the midpoint. A recent trip to Michigan confirmed that now I am noticing what I perceive to be oddities of American culture.

Last month, Sarah and I took a trip to Michigan to go shopping (which is quite a Canadian thing to do). We stayed near Frankenmuth at a hotel with my parents. It was a good halfway point for us all to meet and spend the weekend catching up and shopping.

The hotel was located near a busy highway. I looked out the window of my room and saw a giant billboard with a photo of a rifle advertising “SAVE BIG—BUY USED Over 2,500 used guns in stock.” As much as I dislike the stereotype that Americans are all gunslingers, I could see why any visitors to the US would believe this, considering this billboard and several other similar signs I saw in eastern Michigan. There was a time, not so long ago, when I wouldn’t have even noticed a gun store advertisement, or if I had, it wouldn’t have seemed unusual to me.

Our hotel rooms had refrigerators, and my parents had brought bottled water and cans of pop. We all watched some late-night tv together before going to bed, and on my way back to our room, I was cleaning up and put the empty water bottles in the recyc. . . .oh, there was no recycling bin in either of our rooms, only trash cans! As much as I dislike the stereotype that Americans don’t recycle as much as they should, I was surprised to be in a hotel where each room did not have its own recycling bin. The last several hotels I had been in were in Canada, and recycling bins are a standard amenity. I couldn’t bring myself to just throw the bottles away, so I left them on the counter. There was a time, not so long ago, when I wouldn’t have even noticed the lack of a recycling bin.

By the third day of our weekend excursion, not only was the weather rapidly deteriorating, as we got further into the fall season and the rain was falling, but my dad’s mental state was rapidly deteriorating as he had reached his shopping patience limit. So, during one of our final shopping stops, my dad stayed in the car while my mom, Sarah, and I went in to shop. When we finally emerged from the store an hour and a hundred dollars later, I was surprised to see my dad sitting in his SUV with the engine running. . As much as I dislike the stereotype that Americans are gluttonous SUV drivers on a mission to destroy the world, I didn’t know how long the vehicle’s engine had been running, and I was horrified. I even briefly glanced around, embarrassed that someone might see me getting in this car that had been destroying the air for our children and our children’s children. Such idle idling would not be tolerated in Canada. There was a time, not so long ago, when I wouldn’t have even noticed cars idling in a parking lot.

The most striking reminder of how foreign my home state now feels was during breakfast at the hotel. A breakfast was included with our stay, and we were happy to take advantage as the food was fresh, diverse, and tasty, and the breakfast room was large, clean, and bright. We were staying at the hotel during a busy weekend when high school athletic teams were traveling for competitions, groups of older women were on overnight shopping trips, and medieval re-enactors were participating in the nearby renaissance festival. As I was getting through my second coffee and first banana, I paused and tried to discern what was gnawing at the back of my mind. Something was slightly uncomfortably different, but I couldn’t identify what in particular. I spent some time observing what was going on around me in the busy breakfast room. First, the noise level was quite high as all the breakfasters were loudly discussing their plans for the day with apparent disregard for their very public surroundings. I wondered if they almost were hoping everyone around would be listening in. Those who were not brashly sharing their itineraries were looking around the room with furrowed brows, evaluating the other guests. I even inadvertently made eye contact with a couple of people who were staring directly at me—I quickly moved my gaze; they did not. I realized that I was feeling uncomfortable because no one was keeping to themselves. I stared down and my coffee and thought very hard about how this same situation would be different in Canada. First, Canadians generally would be much quieter in their conversations. Second, Canadians wouldn’t be staring relentlessly at those around them. They might glance around with curiosity, but during my two years in Ontario, I had clearly become intolerant of the type of intense eye-boring I was getting from the Americans.

Of course, everything I am saying here is a generalization based on generalizations, and perhaps my observations are distorted by my preconceptions. I might as well also make a comment about the marked lack of “eh” and “sorey” expressions floating around the room, eh?

Despite my newfound discomfort, I got up and went back to the breakfast bar to get some biscuits. A guy who was seeking similar sustenance arrived at the biscuit bin a split second after me and displayed an inordinate amount of irritation that I was in his way. I smiled nervously at him and said, without any real justification for doing so, “oh, sorry.” Expecting my unnecessary apology to be reciprocated in turn, I was a bit taken aback to instead be presented with another loud sigh and eye roll.

Holidays and Loneliness

The poignancy of loneliness is relative; relative to the time of day, the mood of the lonely person, the time of year, the weather. Most of all, the amount of pain caused by loneliness is relative to the social surroundings. The feeling of loneliness one has while sitting alone at home watching TV is, for most people, substantially less depressing and disconcerting than that feeling of loneliness one has while eating alone at a restaurant or holding up a wall at a party. In my own experience, the times I have felt the most overwhelmed with loneliness were when there were when I was surrounded by others who were socializing and enjoying each other’s company, and I was merely a spectator and not a participant. I’ve been to the movie theater on my own a couple of times, and once the lights go out, I get lost in the storyline—besides, all of the other couples and groups present in the theater aren’t a taunting reminder of my solitude until the lights go up at the end of the film. Once I foolishly went on a bus trip to an amusement park by myself, and the other people on the bus were cuddling couples or groups of laughing friends. I was the only person on the bus sitting by myself. The feeling of loneliness that overwhelmed me on that five-hour ride was merely a preview of what I would experience when we arrived at the park.

Today is Thanksgiving in Canada. Thanksgiving in Canada is a bit different from Thanksgiving in the US for a few reasons: 1) In Canada, it’s not the start of Christmas season but more of a fall festival, 2) Canadians only get one day off from work while most people get two days off in the US, 3) Canadian Thanksgiving is on a Monday in mid-October while American Thanksgiving is on a Thursday in late November, and 4) my experience has been that Thanksgiving is the second-biggest holiday in the US, but I’m not sure Canadians regard their Thanksgiving with as much importance. However, the two countries’ holidays have much in common—turkey, large meals, internal inventories of gratitude, and family gatherings.

This is my third Thanksgiving in Canada. Each one I’ve experienced here has been especially memorable, but memorable because of the loneliness that creeps up on me. It starts in mid-September when I overhear people talking about their plans for family get-togethers for Thanksgiving. My first thought is usually about why they are planning so far in advance; after all, Thanksgiving is over two months away. Then I remember with a jolt that it’s in October. As Thanksgiving weekend approaches, I overhear all the conversations around me about family gatherings, preparations for big meals, talk of turkey. Then I remember with a jolt that Sarah and I will not be spending time with any family as we don’t have any within a five-hour drive. That is the point where I start to feel a bit sad and lonely.

Oktoberfest is a very big deal in the Kitchener-Waterloo-Cambridge area, and Sarah and I have gone each year that we’ve been in Canada. Oktoberfest always coincides with Canadian Thanksgiving. The first year we were in Canada, I had only been living here less than two months, but somehow we managed to get tickets to the biggest festhallen in Oktoberfest. There were thousands of people there, but Sarah and I floated around the uber-long tables without knowing anyone. The feeling of being lonely in a crowd was ever present. This year’s Oktoberfest was a vastly different experience. We had tickets to go to a hall on the first Friday night, and not only we were lucky enough to go along with some of our favorite Canadian friends, but we saw several of our other friends there throughout the night. But the prospect of a lonely Thanksgiving day still loomed at the end of the long weekend.

This year, we were also fortunate enough to have visitors for at least part of the Thanksgiving weekend. Some of our friends from Michigan were driving to Philadelphia and stopped to stay with us on the way. Still, they were only staying until Monday morning, which meant that Sarah and I would be on our own for Thanksgiving day. Doesn’t sound so bad, does it? Well, Thanksgiving is not a romantic holiday—it’s a family holiday, a holiday typically celebrated with more than immediate family. And, one of the problems with family holidays is that when you don’t have any family around, your friends aren’t around either because they are all with their families. So, this morning, as we stood on our front steps and waved goodbye to our friends from Michgan departing for Pennsylvania, we felt a bit lonely as we saw all the other cars arriving at our neighbors’ houses. The air outside smelled like a thousand turkey dinners. I was getting a bit depressed, but didn’t say anything to Sarah about it. For a fleeting moment, it occurred to me that I used to get so easily annoyed with the obligations of family holiday gatherings. Then the moment was gone and I felt a bit lonely again, missing my family.

We went back in the house and Sarah, looking quite forlorn, said “I feel really down. I’m a bit homesick today, but I don’t know why.” I said, “I know.” I gave her a big hug and thought about how thankful I was that at least we were together.

My Survival Guide Arrived. . .A Bit Late

Three things I enjoy very much in life are teaching others, analyzing cultural differences between people of various nationalities, and the mechanics of the English language. While they seem fairly unrelated, I have discovered that I can combine my interest and skill in all three by teaching English as a second language (ESL). I have been a volunteer ESL conversation circle leader for about two years now, working with my local immigrant services organization and neighborhood associations. Canada has a considerable influx of immigrants from all over the world, and a sizeable portion of these immigrants speak little or no English on arrival. Aside from my experience teaching English (which included some ESL training while I was in grad school), I can relate somewhat to those who are newcomers to Canada. But when I found out that my local college offered an actual post-graduate certification in teaching ESL, I applied and was accepted into the program.

I just finished my first course in the program. We had discussions and assignments on cognitive theory, language assimilation, and linguistics. We also spent a fair bit of time discussing cultural obstacles that ESL learners face, as these obstacles must be anticipated by the ESL teacher. One assignment was to read an article about culture shock. I had never read this particular article before, but when I did, all I could think was “I wish someone had told me all of this two years ago!” I was surprised at how accurate it was. I also showed Sarah, who has immigrated to new countries twice now, and she agreed it rang very true.

I have put this text in my blog because it really sums up everything I’ve experienced over the last two years (and am still experiencing). This text used to appear on a website called cultureshockguides.com which no longer exists. You can find this information still on other sites (such as the Migration News website). I am pretty sure it was originally written by the people who write the Culture Shock Guides, which are books than can be purchased about the culture and customs of various nations. See below for the immigrant “survival guide.”

YOUR SURVIVAL GUIDE

Many new settlers suffer from varying degrees of culture shock, ranging from the odd surprise at differences in local customs to major belts of home sickness. Even migrants from English speaking, Commonwealth countries such as the United Kingdom, are susceptible to vary degrees of "culture shock" as they are often not prepared for any sort of change at all or the "subtle" differences in social etiquette or customs. The key to success is being pragmatic and accepting that you will never "change" your newly adopted home land. It is YOU who must change or at least adapt to the local environment. Most find that they do not have to change a lot, while others may find the task of "fitting in" to be more difficult.

It is important to understand the emotions that you will encounter when migrating. It is not just you. Every new settler feels them. Some say that moving to a new country can be a roller coaster ride, with many ups and downs along the way. These ups and downs have been scientifically proven and are known as the assimilation process. To help you understand the assimilation process, it can be broken down into three distinct stereotypical phases below:

THE ASSIMILATION PROCESS. . .

PHASE 1 - Euphoria

The Euphoria phase occurs when you first arrive in your new country. It will be a great adventure much akin to taking a holiday. You will be enjoying your new life and discovering everything that your new adopted home land has to offer. This is the honeymoon period.

PHASE 2 - Culture shock

After 6 to 12 months, the honeymoon will be over. You need to start working, your first tax bill will arrive and the grind of day to day life begins. Although you are largely enjoying your new lifestyle, you discover aspects of your new country that you dislike. You have a few surprises along the way as you encounter differences in social etiquette and customs, especially when developing a group of friends or socialising with work colleagues. You miss some aspects of your home country and most importantly, you will miss your family and friends. You will become a little home sick.

PHASE 3 - Assimilation

Successful re-settlement! It can take up to 2 - 3 years for some people to achieve full assimilation. This is when you fully accept your new home land and ignore the aspects that you dislike. You now fit in and are confident that have you built a good life for yourself. Perhaps you will have taken a trip back to your home country (recommended) and you now realise just how better off you are. You have a much healthier and interesting lifestyle than any of your friends and family back home and they will be envious of your new life. You take a balanced view of your relocation and learn to accept the various aspects that you do not like or that you miss.

THE KEY TO SUCCESS. . .

To achieve full assimilation more quickly, it is important for you to understand the 80 / 20 rule. This is a well known law of averages. Experience has shown that many new settlers will like 80% of the aspects of their new adopted home land. But they will dislike 20%, sometimes quite strongly. Some people make the mistake of spending 80% of their time focusing on the 20% of aspects they do not like. The 80 / 20 rule. These negative thoughts can be very damaging and can lead to failure. The key to success is spending 80% of your time focusing on the 80% of the aspects that you like. Accept that you will never like 20% of your new country, but since it is the minority, you are still better off.

Remember to remain flexible and open minded when emigrating. View your move much like a permanent holiday for the rest of your life. You will never change your newly adopted country so love it for its differences. And most importantly of all, make the effort to discover all the outdoor pursuits and recreational opportunities that you new country has to offer. And if your work colleagues or a contact invites you for a BBQ, accept! Through one person you will meet 10 and this will ensure you successfully assimilate without delay.

My Moving Mix

I love my iPod. My iPod is one of my most reliable companions. My iPod can inspire more emotions and reflection than a sappy soap opera and historical documentary combined. One of my favorite things about my iPod is that I can create playlists for any mood. I have a playlist for when I’m mad, one for playing before soccer games, one for when I need cheering up, one for morning motivation, one for laughs, one for running, and even one for my dogs. Some playlists are created for temporary needs, such as road trip playlists, or playlists created for entertaining visitors.

One of my playlists was created for a temporary purpose—to help me get through my move to Canada two years ago. However, that playlist remains on my iPod and may be there forever. When I listen to those songs now, the emotions I was feeling two years ago come rushing back. And, listening to those songs helps me remember the difficulties I overcame when I went through such an emotionally trying transition. I’ve been thinking about my expatriation to Canada more lately, as it has been just two years since I moved, and I thought I should give the songs the credit they deserve for helping me preserve my sanity at that time. These are the songs that kept me going when I was still in limbo, not knowing if Sarah and I would be able to stay together. These are the songs that were my crutch as I packed up my stuff and donated all but my most important possessions. These are the songs that gave me strength as I made the ten hour trip from Grand Rapids, MI to Cambridge, ON. These are the songs that helped me keep my chin up when I was new in Canada and felt very alone.

The lyrics of some of the songs on that playlist are so eerily apt to my situation and my move that I still get chills or teary-eyed at some of them. In fact, I wrote a little synopsis of what was going on in my life two years ago using only excerpts from those songs:

This doesn’t feel like freedom. This ain’t my American dream. Nothing’s belonged, nothing’s been “yes,” nowhere’s been home, and I’m ready to be limbo no more. I’d give anything to get what's fair. Somewhere there's a place for us. It's time to make a move. I've got my heart set on anywhere but here I'm staring down myself, counting up the years. We gotta move. This ain't no living. I wouldn't stay around if the money let me linger on. When the white oak (national tree of the USA) has no answer, it turns its back on you. The maple calls you, shows you something new. In Canada, they treat you like a queen. In Canada, they never will be mean. I hear spring is nice in Canada. I start to wonder why I’m here, not there.

I sit with filled frames and my books and my dogs at my feet. My friends by my side, my past in a heap. Thrown out most of my things. You can have my stereo. Only kept what I need to carve something consistent. We said goodbye to a dear old friend, and we packed our bags and left feeling sad. I've got a heart full of rubber bands that keep getting caught on things. And I know it aches and my heart it breaks--I can only take so much. I’ve got to leave it behind. We’ll leave behind the worst we've known and build ourselves a brand new home--maybe then we'll find the time we've lost I’m ready to wake up, there in the exodus, on the beautiful side of somewhere. So I packed my car and headed east. There’s something exciting about leaving everything behind. Turn your head and don't look back. Just set your sails for a new horizon--don't turn around, don't look down. And you know it's really not surprising--it gets better when you get there. I remember my home--I left there with bitter words. I won't forget the place I come from. We said hello as we turned the key. A new roof over our heads--somewhere I belong. My roots in the ground, something at last I can feel a part of. It's a shame that we have lost so many things that we will never find again. But it doesn't matter anymore, anyways.

Below is a list of the songs on that playlist and a snippet of the lyrics for each. The songs with an asterisk are the ones that have been the most meaningful to me, and I have posted their entire lyrics. I hope that anyone who might be moving to somewhere new and unknown can find solace and encouragement in their words and music as I have (and still do).

No More—Matt Pond PA
“When the white oak has no answer, it turns its back on you. The maple calls you, shows you something new.”

Even Rats—The Slip
“I hear spring is nice in Canada. . .you can have my stereo.”

American Idiot—Greenday
“Well maybe I’m the faggot America. I’m not part of a redneck agenda.”

In a Big Country—Big Country
“I thought that pain and truth were things that really mattered, but you can't stay here with every single hope you had shattered”

Somewhere—from West Side Story
“We'll find a new way of living, we'll find a way of forgiving. Somewhere . . . There's a place for us.”

American Dream—Switchfoot
“It doesn’t feel like freedom. This ain’t my American dream.”

Godspeed You Deathwolf—Sleepless Nights
“I don’t want to move to Toronto.”

Breakaway—Kelly Clarkson
“Though it's not easy to tell you goodbye, gotta take a risk, take a chance, make a change and break away. Out of the darkness and into the sun, but I won't forget the place I come from.”

*Limbo No More—Alanis Morissette
“My house, my role
My friends, my man
My devotion to god
All the more feels indefinite

Nothing’s been clear
Nothing’s been in
Nothing’s felt true
And I’ve never had both feet in
Nothing’s belonged
Nothing’s been yes
Nowhere’s been home
And I’m ready to be limbo no more

My taste, my peers
My identity, my affiliation
All the more feels indefinite

Nothing’s been clear
Nothing’s been in
Nothing’s felt true
And I’ve never had both feet in
Nothing’s belonged
Nothing’s been yes
Nowhere’s been home
And I’m ready to be limbo no more

I sit with filled frames
And my books and my dogs at my feet
My friends by my side
My past in a heap
Thrown out most of my things
Only kept what I need to carve
Something consistent and notably me

Tattoo on my skin
My teacher’s in heart
My house is a home
Something at last I can feel a part of
Sense of myself
My purpose is clear
My roots in the ground
Something at last I can feel a part of
Something aligned
To finally commit
Somewhere I belong
‘Cuz I’m ready to be limbo no more
My wisdom applied
A firm foundation
A vow to myself
‘Cuz I’m ready to be limbo no more”

*We Said Hello, Goodbye (Don’t Look Back)—Phil Collins
“We said goodbye to a dear old friend
And we packed our bags and left feeling sad
It's the only way
We said hello as we turned the key
A new roof over our heads
Gave a smile
It's the only way
Only way

Turn your head
And don't look back
Set your sails for a new horizon
Don't turn around don't look down
Oh there's life across the tracks
And you know it's really not surprising
It gets better when you get there

Well it really don't matter much where you are
Cause home is in your heart
It's a feeling that you wake with one day
Some people keep running all their life
And still find they haven't gone too far
They don't see it's the feeling inside - the feeling inside

Turn your head and don't look back
Just set your sails for a new horizon
Don't turn around don't look down
Oh there's life across the tracks
And you know it's really not surprising
It gets better when you get there

We said hello as we turned the key
A new roof over our heads
Gave a smile - it's the only way”

*What We Have Been Waiting For—Daphne Loves Derby
“I have been waiting for July to come around
I hear the summer whispering the things to come

We have been waiting for the sun to show its face
Thank you, sweet winter
But now we're desperate to move on

We leave behind the worst we've known
And build ourselves a brand new home
Maybe then we'll find the time we've lost

Set us free, sweet summer day
We've been waiting much too long for you to come
Save me from the worst I've known
And let me relive the days I've thrown away

Times have changed so quickly
It's a shame that we have lost so many things that we will never find again
But it doesn't matter anymore, anyways
Summer sings a song to us that I can't ignore
That I'm desperate for
I tried too hard to keep my calm but I just cannot anymore, anyways

We leave behind the worst we've known
And build ourselves a brand new home
Maybe then we'll find the time we've lost

Set us free, sweet summer day
We've been waiting much too long for you to come
Save me from the worst I've known
And let me relive the days I've thrown away

Remember all the times we've wasted
Drowning ourselves in foolish dreams
We were betrayed by our own hope
But the summer will be a sweet revenge

The end”

*Stop and Stare—OneRepublic
“This town is colder now, I think it's sick of us
It's time to make a move, I'm shaking off the rust
I've got my heart set on anywhere but here
I'm staring down myself, counting up the years

Steady hands, just take the wheel
And every glance is killing me
Time to make one last appeal
For the life I leave

Stop and stare
I think I'm moving but I go nowhere
Yeah, I know that everyone gets scared
But I've become what I can't be.
Stop and stare
You start to wonder why you're here, not there
And you'd give anything to get what's fair
But fair ain't what you really need
Oh, can you see what I see

They're trying to come back, all my senses push
Untie the weight bags, I never thought I could
Steady feet, don't fail me now
Gotta run till you can't walk
But something pulls my focus out
And I'm standing down

Stop and stare
I think I'm moving but I go nowhere
Yeah, I know that everyone gets scared
But I've become what I can't be.
Stop and stare
You start to wonder why you're here, not there
And you'd give anything to get what's fair
But fair ain't what you really need

Stop and stare
I think I'm moving but I go nowhere
Yeah, I know that everyone gets scared
I've become what I can't be
Oh, do you see what I see”

*Another White Dash—Butterfly Boucher
“There is something exciting about leaving everything behind
There is something deep and pulling leaving everything behind
Something about having everything you think you'll ever need
Sitting in the seat next to you

And I watch another white dash, another white dash, another white dash fly beside us
And I watch another white dash, another white dash, another white dash fly beneath us

Away away..

There is yelling of an engine, a constant rattling door
There is serious, deep and mumbled a conversation I'm not in
Flickering lights, shadows of trees makes me blink my eyes
Makes the land appear like a really old movie

And I watch another white dash, another white dash, another white dash fly beside us
And I watch another white dash, another white dash, another white dash fly beneath us

Away away..

I've got a heart full of rubber bands that keep getting caught on things

And I count another white dash, another white dash, another white dash, I drift off at eighty.. something!
And I count another white dash, another white dash, another white dash out of time with the music
Another white dash, another white dash, another white dash, fly beside us
And I count another white dash, another white dash, another white dash fly beneath us

There is something exciting about leaving everything behind
There is something deep and pulling leaving everything behind
Something about having everything you think you'll ever need
Sitting in the seat next to you”

Waiting in Canada—Jann Arden
“Drive your car all night by just starlight to Canada”

Nothing Left to Lose—Mat Kearney
“There’s nothing left to lose. So I packed my car and headed east. . .push the pedal down, and watch the world around fly by us.

Catch the Sun—Doves
“I ain’t ever going back, back to the place that I can’t stand.”

The Beautiful Side—The Wallflowers
“I’m ready to wake up, there in the exodus, on the beautiful side of somewhere. I’m ready to come down and see us both somehow, on the beautiful side of somewhere.”

Gotta Get Thru This—Daniel Beddingfield
“I gotta get through this. . .just another day and then I’ll hold you tight.”

Miles From Our Home—Cowboy Junkies
“You're miles from your home, miles from your home. But that's where I want to be.”

Start the Car—Jude Cole
“Start the car, we gotta move. This ain't no living, this ain't no groove. . .
But somewhere waiting there's something more. Start the car.”

Don’t Look Back—Thallia
“Trust your heart, you'll make it somehow. It's everything you're looking for. . .Don't look back, keep straight ahead. You know what is right--out of mind is out of sight.”

Check Yes Juliet—We the Kings
“Run, baby, run. Don't ever look back. They'll tear us apart if you give them the chance.”

Brand New Day—Sting
“The river's wide, we'll swim across. We're starting up a brand new day.”

Walk On—U2
“And I know it aches and your heart it breaks--you can only take so much. Walk on. Leave it behind. You've got to leave it behind.”

Somerville—The Pernice Brothers
“I wouldn't stay around if the money let me linger on until the end of December and waste another year like a minute, trying to forget, but I remember my home--I left there with bitter words.”

In Canada—B. J. Snowden
“In Canada, they treat you like a queen. In Canada, they never will be mean.”

Canadian Idiot—Weird Al Yankovic
“And you know what else is too funny? Their stupid Monopoly money.”

Guard it Closely—The Jealous Sound
“There's an empty chair here--we guard it closely. You're so far gone.”

No Way Back—Foo Fighters
“There is no way back from here, but I don't care--no way back from here.”

My Third Canadian Autumn Begins

I’ve always found it remarkable how many people say that autumn is their favorite season. You would think that people would prefer the lazy doldrums of summer. Yet, ask any North American to name their favorite season, and you will invariably get a response indicating either fall or both summer and fall.

I think the explanation for this is that fall is a time of year when people often start something new—ironically, a season of death represents new beginnings for so many. Either it’s off to school, sending kids to school, the start of a new sports season, or even getting new clothes that provide a bit more protection from the elements than the summer tank tops and shorts. One of my friends and I were recently discussing how powerful seasons and holidays are in prompting memories and emotions—it’s the temperatures in the air, the thickness of the atmosphere, the decorations, the colors of the fields, the richness (or lack of) in the hues in the sky, and most of all the smells that cause us to get lost in reverie, depression, or excitement. Fall, in particular, is a bit drastic in these changes. While autumn slips in some flurries here and there just to get everyone mentally ready for the upcoming cold, winter moves to spring in a blustery and muddy but gradual way, and spring eases into summer with two-degrees forward/one-degree backwards type intervals, the fall of fall always seems to be more sudden. There is always a day each year when I walk out my back door and say, usually to no one in particular, “Well, fall is here.” I can’t recall ever having that same epiphany for other seasons.

While autumn has always been my favorite season, the changing from summer to fall has increased significance for me now as I remember that one of the biggest changes in my life happened in the late summer/early fall of 2008. That was when I moved away from the US. The 30^th of August recently came and went, and the magnitude of the date did not escape me—it was my two year anniversary of moving to Canada.

I had some chance to contemplate how much my life had changed in two years, and in what ways the changes were so much different than I could have imagined. The following weekend was cold, rainy, and blustery, and I remember mentioning to no one in particular, “Well, fall is here.” Our friends Tony and Rick came from Michigan to visit us for the holiday weekend. This was their third annual Labor Day weekend visit. Their first visit to Canada on Labor Day weekend was when I moved to Canada. They arrived in Cambridge on the Friday night and stayed with Sarah so that they were there and able to help us unload the U-Haul when I arrived from Michigan the next day. In the mean time I was sleeping in a nearly empty house in Michigan with a U-Haul parked in the driveway. I got up the next morning and finished loading the final few items. My friend and neighbor Beth came over to say a tearful goodbye and to give me a bunch of Canadian coins that my soccer teammates had collected as a going away present.

As I needed to bring not only the U-Haul to Canada, but also my car, my friends Clare and Jason came over to make the trip with me. We had a nice little three-vehicle convoy—I was driving the giant U-Haul truck. Clare drove my car, and Jason drove his car so that he and Clare would have a way to get back to Michigan.

I’ll never forget those few split seconds when I pulled out of the driveway for what I knew would be the last time. I was full of fear and sadness. Sarah had made the same journey just six weeks earlier, and she said that the further she got from Grand Rapids, the more the fear and sadness started to transition into excitement and anticipation. Like her, I was driving all alone with only my iPod and my “moving to Canada” playlist to keep me company. More on that in a future post.

The U-Haul could only go so fast, and we had to stop for gas and food now and then. When we reached Detroit, we had to stop to export my car. Most encounters with United States federal government employees are a real treat, and this was no different. It took about an hour to complete something that should have taken ten minutes. Finally the car was exported, and we headed over the Ambassador Bridge. We didn’t get too far as the line to get into Canada extended almost the length of the bridge. I will never forget thinking about how during that whole time on the bridge, my car was a car without a country—exported from the US but not yet imported into Canada. I was kind of the same.

The import proceedings at the Canadian border took an additional hour, but were a much more pleasant experience, as the customs officers were very chatty and helpful. Then we were on our way again, driving the horrendous two hours of highway 401 nothingness between Windsor and London. Once we hit London, I knew we were only an hour away from my new home, and as Sarah predicted, my fear and sadness has changed to excitement—here I was in a new country, MY new country.

A journey that would typically take under six hours ended up taking ten hours. Our little convoy arrived at the house in Cambridge where we were joyfully greeted by Sarah, Tony, Rick, and our dogs Cody and Brit. The reunion with Sarah and the dogs was emotional enough, and the realization that four of my friends made the incredible journey with us just to help us out and help ease our anxiety was overwhelming. It was already getting dark when we arrived, so we opted to wait until the morning to unload the truck. Besides, Sarah, Tony, and Rick had made a trip to the Beer Store and stocked the fridge with over 72 bottles of new and exciting Canadian beers.

I woke up the next morning and opened my eyes and thought, “Wow, I’m in Canada. I’m in a different country!” (This internal morning ritual was repeated every morning for almost the next five months.) The rest of the weekend was filled with shopping, drinking, and unpacking. On Labor Day, all of our friends headed back to Michigan, and so we were left all alone in a new country where we didn’t know anyone. I had negotiated to start my job the following week, so I had one week all to myself to explore my surroundings. Sarah was working, so during the day, I rode my bike and walked around town, took drives through the countryside, and sat on the deck taking it all in. Autumn came early in 2008, and by the first week of September, the feeling was already in the air. The day before I started my new job, I was hanging out on the deck with the dogs. The sky was cool gray, the wind encouraged a few red-tinged maple leaves to surrender to gravity, and I buttoned my overcoat with a shiver. I mumbled to no one in particular, “Well, fall is here.”

Hockey--For Weddings and a Funeral

I had only been in Canada about a year when I first had occasion to go to a funeral. Two of the first close friendships I made after moving here were with one of my hockey teammates and her husband. In many ways, they have been like surrogate parents to Sarah and me. They invite us to their family functions, go with us to watch football and hockey games, come over for dinner, etc. Unfortunately, my friend’s brother was very sick in the hospital and he ended up dying at a relatively young age. I found out about this untimely death a couple of days after it happened, and as I was at work when I found out, I did some online research to find out about the funeral and visitation.

Sure enough, as I looked online, I discovered that the visitation was that very morning. I was thankful that I was dressed in business attire (not casual) that day, and I got permission from my boss to leave work for an hour to go to the visitation.

I parked my car outside the funeral home and saw that there were many cars there and people going in and out. Yet, something didn’t seem right. I was too focused on my own social anxiety at going into a place full of people where I would likely only know three or four people, so I just looked at the ground as I made my way through the parking lot and in the door.

The funeral home employee in his formal business suit greeted me and directed me to the appropriate room. As I entered the room, I had the fleeting thought again that something wasn’t right, but this time, after only a split second, I figured it out. Everyone at the visitation was wearing a hockey jersey. I couldn’t have felt more out of place dressed in my suit.

Almost all of the hockey jerseys were Buffalo Sabres jerseys, so I visually sifted through the sea of people dressed in dark blue or white to try to find my friend. Finally I spotted her in a jersey that was about four sizes too big. I immediately hugged her and then also saw her husband, one of the few other people dressed in a suit. I spoke with them briefly and expressed my condolences. As I was speaking with them, I noticed that my friend’s husband had a Buffalo Sabres sticker on his lapel. Scanning the room, I saw that almost all of those not in a jersey at least had stickers on their clothes.

My friend explained to me that her brother was an avid Sabres fan, and that he would have been just thrilled to know that people came to his visitation and funeral in their Sabres jerseys.
There was no body in the room—only several photo boards. But, I am sure if the body would have been there, my friend’s brother would have been in a Buffalo hockey jersey.

Feeling out of place due to the way I was dressed and because I knew almost no one, I left and hurried back to work and reflected on what a surreal experience that had been. It seemed so bizarre to me that I wondered if there was even any point telling my friends back home about the hockey-themed funeral. I was planning to include this story on my next installment of my "favorite Canadian moments," but then I decided that it probably was an anomaly and would be unfairly stereotyping.

Then, this past weekend, I attended my first wedding in Canada. Well, I guess I can’t really say it was my "first" wedding in Canada, as Sarah and I were married in Windsor in 2006, but it was definitely my first wedding as an attendee since moving here.

Ironically, it was also the first time I had ever attended a same-sex wedding (again, other than my own two weddings with Sarah, where I was a participant). I didn’t know what to expect, and I was eager to experience a same-sex wedding as a mere observer.

Two of my friends who I know from work and from hockey were marrying each other. I was just so thrilled that they invited me, and Sarah and I were looking forward to the experience. We arrived at the wedding, which was outdoors, and immediately saw a small string quartet playing upbeat jazz. Sarah and I took our seats near the back and watched all the other guests arrive. I was bracing myself the entire time in case I overheard any negative comments about same-sex marriage, and I looked carefully for any body language that implied a participant was not quite comfortable with what was about to take place. I didn’t hear or see either.

Soon, there was a slight stir in the crowd and someone announced the pending entrance of the two participants. I was caught off guard when, expecting to hear a traditional wedding march or other wedding song, I instead heard another slightly jazzy and upbeat tune coming from the string quarted behind me. Everyone in the crowd began laughing, including Sarah. I saw my two friends enter the area together, smiling broadly. The tune was vaguely familiar, and I eventually determined it was from television, but I couldn’t quite place it. Everyone around me was still laughing, so I was embarrassed to ask because I didn’t know exactly why it was funny. Finally I whispered to Sarah, "What song IS this? It sounds familiar."

She looked at me a bit surprised and then responded, "It’s the theme song from Hockey Night in Canada."

Oh, yes, why hadn’t I realized that? After all, nothing says love and commitment like Hockey Night in Canada!

After this song finished, the ceremony turned much more formal and was, in fact, quite touching and beautiful. After all the vows were said, rings exchanged, kisses kissed, and papers signed (for my US readers--in Canadian weddings, all the paperwork is signed during the actual ceremony), the best man was called up to the front. As the wedding reception did not involve a formal dinner, the best man was called up front to make a speech. Sure enough, he was dressed in a new Dion Phaneuf Toronto Maple Leafs jersey over his suit and tie. (Both brides are passionate Maple Leafs fans.) He was an odd contrast to all of the other wedding party members who were in nice dresses or pantsuits.

Later in the evening during the reception, I was still pondering the significance of attending my first Canadian and same-sex wedding when both of the brides came over to chat. They wanted to show us something really neat, they said. One of the brides rolled up the leg of her pantsuit to reveal a garter. But this wasn’t just any garter. This was a Toronto Maple Leafs garter!
The brides wandered off and I looked at Sarah and said, "You know, there is NO OTHER PLACE IN THE WORLD where we would have experienced what we did today--a legal same-sex wedding with a hockey theme and attendees who are all truly happy for the brides and at the wedding because they genuinely care about the couple, not because it’s like a sideshow of deviant behavior."

It took me about two days to get the theme tune to Hockey Night in Canada out of my head! I also began to wonder what song was played at my friend’s brother’s actual funeral service, and I guessed that chances were good that it might have been from HNIC.

The World Cup through Canadian Eyes

Around this time four years ago, I was in Europe, which isn’t so remarkable in itself except that I was in Europe while the FIFA World Cup was taking place in Germany. Sarah and I were even fortunate enough to attend a first-round game in Germany—Germany vs. Poland. We got off the train in Dortmund a stop too early, and so we had to walk all the way across town to get to the stadium. I will never forget that walk through the downtown and the atmosphere all around. The German fans were partying through the streets, drinking, singing, and chanting. There were also some Poland fans about, getting pumped up for the game in their own way. We only witnessed some good-natured joking between the groups of fans. It was remarkable to see people so passionate about their countries mixing without much incident despite somewhat recent history of conflict between the two nations. The atmosphere in the stadium was so loud, and so energizing, and I was surprised to see Polish fans sitting amongst the German fans, and again, a lot of good-natured ribbing going on during the game which Germany eventually won.

I was also privileged enough to be in England during the 2002 World Cup, and I was in Italy just before the 1998 World Cup. If you can’t go to the actual games, the second best option is to travel to a country that is passionate about their team participating in the tournament. Even in 2002, I was at a packed out pub in England at 10 am buzzing from strong beer and watching on the big screen as the English team was playing their game in the Far East.

Unfortunately, at some point during each of these trips (which did not last the duration of the tournament), I had to head back to West Michigan where I lived at the time. Unless you’re in a really big city like New York or Los Angeles, the US is probably one of the worst places in the world to try to follow the world’s biggest sporting event. Even finding the games on TV can be difficult. While the games in the later stages of the tournament may make it to ESPN or other standard cable channels, for many of the first round games, I would have to make friends whose cable packages included Spanish-language channels.

When games were being played during my workday (due to time zone differences), I would find live score updates online and follow as closely as I could while working. I would see the score change and an upset in the making, and listen from my cubicle for gasps or comments from anyone else—certainly there had to be other people watching the scoreline. But, I never heard a sound that was soccer related, nor did I know of anyone in the vicinity who would care if I shared the news.

When games in the later stages were televised live on weekends, Sarah and I craved the fan atmosphere we had experienced in Europe. We wanted to find a sports bar where the game was being shown. We learned from several past disappointing experiences that we should call around first before just showing up somewhere. We’d start calling the biggest sports bars in Grand Rapids (a metropolitan area of about half a million people). We would ask if they were showing the soccer game. “What soccer game?” was often the reply. Eventually we’d work our way to calling the bars popular with the Italians or Mexicans, and we would make our way there. We’d try to round up as many of our friends as possible and try to get them excited. We’d all show up to half-empty sports bars with eight big screens, and they might have the World Cup game on one of those screens. Other screens would be showing golf, NASCAR, baseball highlights, or the NHL draft. If we were lucky, the sound feed would be from the soccer game—IF we were lucky.

Well, here I am in 2010, another World Cup year, but this time in Canada. I didn’t think that the World Cup experience in Canada would be any different from that in the US. Now less than a week away from the final, I know that there is no where in the world I’d rather be (other than the actual games at the stadiums) during this event.

I had my first clue that something was amiss back in mid-May when the car flags of various nations were everywhere on vehicles all around town. I soon deduced that the car flags coincidentally were the same as countries in the final 32 of the World Cup. At the mall, almost every store was selling soccer jerseys, country flags, scarves, or hats—even stores that don’t normally sell sporting goods. At the farmers’ market, stalls were set up selling similar types of soccer fan merchandise. On a main street corner in downtown Kitchener, a vendor had set up a tent in an empty parking lot and had flags, jerseys, banners, scarves, and balls of every team.

This year, I opted to cheer for the Ivory Coast, as one of my favorite players, Didier Drogba, is on that team. Obtaining an Ivorian car flag through any channel other than online shopping would normally be impossible. But, here in Canada, it was no problem.

About a week before the tournament started, there was no question as to where we could go to watch the games. All the bars and restaurants were advertising that they would be showing the games. As far back as January, CBC, the main television broadcaster in Canada, was advertising for the World Cup—they’d be showing every game.

At work, everyone talks about the World Cup all the time. Everyone knows what teams are playing, and everyone has a favorite. In the US, I would have had numerous tiresome debates by now with people who are certain that there is no value in watching soccer because it is so “boring” compared to other spectator sports. Not so in Canada—there is a genuine appreciation of the game, and a stark absence of any comparisons to football or hockey.

Part of the reason that Canada is such a great place to be during the World Cup is because of the diversity of the population. I could take the most obscure country in the tournament, probably Ivory Coast, and still find fans of this team who are have Ivorian heritage, right in downtown Toronto. Then when you consider some of the more dominant teams in the sport such as Germany or England, the supporters are everywhere. Canadians are generally accepting of individual displays of national pride, and since there are so many Canadians who are immigrants or first generation Canadians, these displays are varied and widespread. No one seems offended by anyone’s car flags or jerseys. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Canada is not in the World Cup itself, so no one feels any pressure or obligation to cheer for Canada. They are free to cheer for any country they choose, and usually these choices center around individuals’ heritages.

If I was in England right now, the fervor over the World Cup would be over because England is now out of the tournament. But here in Canada, when one country exits, the fans from the remaining countries become even more evident. My friends of Dutch heritage who don’t even like soccer are now following the tournament, and better yet, even wanting to talk about soccer with me! A few weeks ago, the Spanish team flags and jerseys were lost in the sea of Portuguese red and green. Now, I can see that there are fans of the Spanish team in my midst, as much as they are still outnumbered by the German fans in this heavily German area. And, once Ivory Coast was out and I switched my allegiance to Paraguay, no one cared or saw me as a traitor. The fan bases here are like rolling snowballs that increase in size as other teams are eliminated from the tournament.

Two weeks ago, Portugal and Brazil played each other in the first round. Several hours after the game, which ended in a 0-0 tie, I was driving through town and couldn’t believe how many Portuguese fans were on the streets shouting and waving large flags. The 0-0 tie was fairly unremarkable, but that was the game that had given Portugal enough points to go on to the second round. It was like being in Portugal without being in Portugal.

This Sunday, the Netherlands will be playing in the final game. This is a huge deal for the Dutch people, who have always fielded a strong team but never actually won the World Cup. The people in the Netherlands are going crazy. The whole country will most likely literally shut down for the day of the game, and probably the day before. The Dutch or Dutch descendents I know here in Kitchener-Waterloo are beside themselves with excitement.

Back in West Michigan, where Dutch and Dutch descendents are the largest ethnic group in many counties, there’s only a limited amount of attention being paid to the upcoming game. I would imagine that if Sarah and I were still living there, despite the Dutch influence in Grand Rapids, and despite the significance of this game, we would still be working hard to convince our friends to go out and watch the game with us, and we may or may not get any takers. Then again, we would likely have trouble even finding a bar willing to show the game!