The Palin Factor

I was out for drinks with my soccer team on Sunday after our game. Several of the players from the opposing team joined us, some friends, and some who I only met that day. One of the gals I had just met started on a rant about Americans and how they don’t know their own history. After all, she explained, when she was in Boston, she asked a Bostonian when they celebrate the Boston Tea Party, and apparently the Bostonian responded with a confused look and an “I don’t know.”

“I think that we [Canadians] know more about American history than they do!” she confidently declared.

These types of comments grate on my nerves. She knew I was American, yet she still made this comment, which I took as a personal insult. I could have defended my countrymen by explaining that there isn’t a formal holiday celebrating the Boston Tea Party. I could have explained that perhaps the Bostonian thought she was referring to the newly-formed right-wing political party, The Tea Party, which is essentially an arm of the Republican Party and thus didn’t know how to respond. Instead I just clenched my jaw in silence and waited for Sarah or one of my friends to defend me. Sarah changed the subject.

That evening after I was home, I was still feeling quite irritated by the comment, and I wasn’t sure if I was more irritated with the Canadian who said it, irritated with myself for not responding, or irritated with my friends and spouse for not calling her on her baseless generalization. I should have set the record straight—most Americans are quite educated and aware of their history. In fact, all the Americans with whom I regularly associate are brilliant and knowledgeable people.

Then I turned on my computer and went to Facebook.

Several of my American friends had posted a YouTube clip of the infamous Alaskan village idiot and Presidential hopeful Sarah Palin retelling the story of Paul Revere in her own twisted version, obviously geared towards National Rifle Association members. Her facts were wrong—Paul Revere’s intention was not to warn “the British that they weren't going to be taking away our arms by ringing those bells and making sure as he's riding his horse through town to send those warning shots and bells that we were going to be secure and we were going to be free,” as she so very eloquently explained.

Revere was alerting the American militia to be ready for a British attack. Everyone knows this—or so I thought.

I don’t know how I can continue to defend the American intellect when widely-supported American political figures such as Palin boldly spout out such garbage. I doubt my new Canadian acquaintance who finds Americans ignorant about their own history had seen the Palin clip when she made her unequivocal statement about Americans’ knowledge, or she would have probably mentioned it as evidence. But if I had gone six rounds with her, defending Americans and their awareness of their own history, I would have looked even more foolish when this Canadian discovered this Palin clip online later.

I guess, for now, I just have to find solace in the fact that my friends back in the US are as appalled by the Palin debacle as I am, and the reason they are so appalled is because they know enough history to know that Palin is wrong.

Then again, Palin’s supporters are now actively claiming that her version of history is correct and are even trying to re-write history to match her version. If the woman does get elected as President of the United States, I might just have no choice but to start denying that I have any association with that country. God willing, I will be a Canadian citizen before the 2012 election.

We Have Huge News.

Last week, on March 29, I received an e-mail from Immigration Equality, the immigration arm of the Human Rights Campaign, the largest LGBT advocacy group in the US. I have been on their mailing list for many years, even before they were part of the HRC. Usually their e-mails would be something to the effect of “Today the Permanent Partners Immigration Act was introduced into the U.S. House of Representatives for the thirty-fifth time. . .” After I moved to Canada, I really kind of only skimmed any e-mails they sent, as their news wasn’t particularly relevant to me in my new situation. But, the e-mail I received last week, with the subject line of “We have huge news.” got my attention. Apparently the news was not huge enough to warrant an exclamation point, but I decided to read the e-mail anyway. It began:

“Yesterday, the Obama Administration announced that it will allow LGBT couples to apply for green cards while courts consider the constitutionality of the Defense of Marriage Act. This is a major step forward for our families, and the first domino to fall for LGBT Americans with foreign national spouses. . . .”

If I would have received such an e-mail three years ago (which, I know, would not have been possible as Obama was not president then), I would have felt my heart stop for a moment and then cried. Instead, I felt my heart stop for a moment and then almost cried.

Turns out “huge news” was a bit of an understatement. Never before in US history have US citizens been allowed to sponsor their foreign same-sex partners for permanent residency. My first thought, actually, was “Oh, God, I hope my mom doesn’t see this,” knowing she would immediately expect, if not demand, that I sponsor Sarah for a US green card and return, post haste, to Michigan. Then I read it again, let out an extended sigh, closed the e-mail, and just sat in stunned silence.

What would have once been the best news I could have heard was now leaving me feeling very confused. I could sense my blood pressure had gone up, and I had a bit of an empty and hollow spot in my stomach.

Before I continue, let me explain the significance of this announcement for my Canadian friends who have been a bit baffled by the terminology. In 1996, the US legislature passed a law, in direct response to some U.S. states extending marriage rights to same sex couples, which basically made it illegal for the federal government to recognize any marriage that was not between one man and one woman, nor could the federal government require any state to recognize such marriages. This law is commonly referred to as DOMA, or the Defense of Marriage Act. This was not a change to the US Constitution, but a federal law. As immigration (and other many important aspects of life including some taxes and retirement benefits) are regulated by the federal government, this law has been a significant impediment, and to this point, an insurmountable obstacle, to same-sex bi-national immigration. In recent years, the law has been challenged in a series of ever-escalating court cases. The Obama administration initially required that the U.S. Justice Department fight to uphold this law in a federal court, where it was being challenged. I’m guessing that when “the Obama administration” realized that GLBT people in the US were feeling ignored and even betrayed and about to break ranks with the Democratic Party, the story was suddenly changed and the Attorney General was then told to stop defending DOMA. So, while this federal case is being argued, the status of DOMA is in limbo. This is why the Obama Administration is now allowing GLBT US citizens to sponsor their foreign partners for “green cards,” which is just a slang term for “US permanent residency status.”

When Sarah and I moved to Canada, we vowed that this would be our only international move. We made a decision that Canada would be our new permanent home. Now, here I am, for the first time, faced with an actual option of returning to the USA.

I was also faced with extreme conflicting emotions. I didn’t really know, and still don’t know, what I have been feeling since learning of this landmark change. Obviously, if I have no plans to move back to the US, it should be a meaningless announcement to me. But, I think I was mostly angry. Angry that this was happening too late to help us. Angry that we had already given up so much by leaving. Angry that I am still feeling the career, social, and financial implications of what has essentially been a restart to my adult life.

I will not return to the USA, though, even if these new developments do work out in favor of the LGBT bi-national couples. First, I have no desire to take another hit, another setback, socially, career-wise, or financially by moving back to Michigan. Moving back there would not give me back everything I’ve lost. In fact, I would be taking another further step backwards. Second, I am finally getting to the point where Canada feels like home. I have, finally, established friendships. I have started to make my mark in my job. Sarah just got a new job with a famous and well-respected Canadian company that she loves. We have taken on leadership roles on our soccer teams and with our hockey league. We are only months away now from being eligible to apply for Canadian citizenship. Canada gave us hope when we had none—this is a gift that will never be forgotten, and a I gift I doubt that Sarah and I can ever fully repay, though we will try until we die. I know where my devotion lies, and it is not with a country that still, current events notwithstanding, views me as a second-class citizen.

Furthermore, these events in the US will not change the bigoted mindsets of the many Americans who would, in all probability, prefer I stay in Canada. Just yesterday, I had to pick up a rental car to use while my car is being repaired. At the rental car office, I went through the normal stomach-churning discomfort of waiting for an opportunity to tell the agent that I needed my spouse to be listed as a driver on the rental car. When it was revealed that my spouse was, like me, a female, I was the only one in the place who was feeling any discomfort. I can recount numerous incidents renting vehicles in the US where the routine exercise of renting a car included humiliating interrogations and seconds of uncomfortable silence. Of course I am not so naive to believe that all Canadians are ok with same-sex couples. However, if I have encountered any Canadians who do have a discomfort, they’ve hidden it well.

I believe that when I moved to Canada, I was so busy with life in general, setting up a home, finding a job, getting a drivers’ license, starting a bank account, getting healthcare, etc., that I never really had time to deal with all the anger I had about having to leave my home country. Perhaps this is why I now feel so much anger. Yet, I truly am happy for those LGBT bi-national couples that will most likely not have to go through the pain and hardship that Sarah and I did.

Detroit: My Adopted Home Town

Growing up in a small town in Western Michigan, I was taught from an early age that we West Michiganders were not like the people from the east side of the state, the east side of the state being the greater Detroit area. I can remember family vacations out of state when I was quite small, and my parents, upon meeting other couples, were asked where they were from. If they responded with only "Michigan," the inquiring party would blurt out, "Oh--Detroit!" This assumption that all people from Michigan were from Detroit irked my parents to no end, and they went to great lengths, including using the famous readily-available hand map, to demonstrate that they were not from Detroit. They believe to this day, arguably correctly, that there is a stigma associated with hailing from Detroit, a stigma they wanted in no way attached to themselves or to their kids.

Once when I was about ten, I asked my parents why they were so angry when people assumed we were from Detroit. I had no idea--I had not been to the Detroit area since I was four years old, and remembered little about it. Despite obligingly following all the Detroit professional sports teams, as almost all good Michiganders do, my parents never traveled to the Detroit area. They much preferred Chicago as a destination, also a three-hour drive from our house. My parents frequently raved about the virtues of Chicago--the lakeshore, the friendliness of the people, the abundance of culture. In response to my youthfully ignorant inquiry as to why my parents would be upset if anyone assumed we were from Detroit, my parents told me, "We're not like them. They don't hold doors open for you. They don't say 'please' or 'thank you.' They are big city people and don't care about others. They would walk right past you if you were dying on the street and not help. They have big mouths and always think they are right. They drive fast and recklessly. They are even so stupid that they feed seagulls on the beach!"

Being young and impressionable, I just believed that we West Michiganders were truly classier and superior to our eastern counterparts because we were quiet, unassuming, caring, and polite. (In retrospect, I wonder how much of what I was told they were like had to do with the rather physical characteristics that set us apart.)

When I was in my mid-20s, I took a job as a computer software trainer, based in Grand Rapids, the second biggest city in Michigan, but definitely characterized as a Western Michigan town. While most of my workdays were spent in West Michigan, my company had three offices in the Detroit area. It wasn't long before I was asked to travel to one of those locations to teach a class. I was filled with so much anxiety--would everyone there treat me rudely? Would I get run off the road on a five-lane highway? (There are approximately six miles of highway with more than two lanes in all of West Michigan.) If I got lost, would anyone help me? Would I be mugged or murdered? I left late at night in the darkness, cranked up my tunes, and after two hours, hit the three-lane, and then four and five-lane, expansion and 85 mph traffic! It was a rush! Everyone drove quickly but safely. Tall, uniquely lit buildings were everywhere, and I felt exhilarated, like I was really an adult in a big city.

The next day, I was surprised to see that the students in my class were just as friendly and polite as those in my classes in Grand Rapids, although the physical makeup of the class was much more diverse. And, while I was teaching at that office for a couple of days, the other instructors, who I'd never met before, took me out to lunch and dinner and did their best to make me feel welcomed. I even made a few lasting friendships.

After that experience, I was not reluctant to travel to "The D" at all. Sarah and I started going there for Red Wings games, museum exhibits, shopping, and for the variety of ethnic restaurants that we were sorely lacking in Grand Rapids. The Detroit airport became our airport of choice and was far easier, faster, and more efficient than either of the main Chicago airports we had been using. All the while, I felt kind of cheated that there was so much going on in Detroit that I had not been allowed to experience as a kid.

Most importantly, I learned that I had quite a bit in common with the Detroiters, even more than I had in common with my fellow West Michiganders. Clearly opposite was the political climate. West Michigan is about as red as Alabama politically, yet Michigan tends to show up as a blue state in federal elections. This azure can be credited only to the voting predilection of the Detroit area. I wasn't ridiculed by the Detroiters for mistrusting Bushes or for thinking that it's a good idea to protect the planet, and being gay was not as much of an issue in The D. Another obvious difference was the Detroiters’ tendency to participate in sports as well as be spectators. The Detroit area had so many more opportunities for women to play sports than in West Michigan, both at an adult recreational and high school level. When I graduated from high school in the early 1990s, my high school didn't even have a women's soccer team. Yet, my female counterparts in Detroit had women's soccer at all their high schools. Girls' or women's hockey? In West Michigan, that was also non-existent, yet Detroit had classes and leagues (and even salespeople at sports stores who didn't behave oddly when a female went in shopping for hockey equipment). The other very noticeable characteristic of the Detroit area was the prevalence of Catholics. In West Michigan, I was definitely in an often-shunned minority being Catholic. Most West Michiganders are protestant, and specifically Dutch Christian Reformed. I had frequently felt like an outsider when I was in school because I didn't go to the same youth group as my classmates--I went to CCD. I didn't go to the same church as the majority of my classmates. My parents were not afraid to drink alcohol or mow their lawns on Sundays. To my classmates and their families, this was sacrilege.

Upon moving to Ontario, anytime I mentioned that I was from Michigan, I would be encountered with the now-familiar assumption that I am from Detroit. I would be told stories about times when people were lost in bad neighborhoods in that city, I would be asked if I knew so-and-so who lived in X suburb of Detroit, told stories of experiences at kids' hockey tournaments in X suburb of Detroit, and approached for information about my favorite casinos and restaurants in Detroit. Out of learned habit, I would insist that Michigan was bigger than Detroit and that I wasn't from Detroit, but to no avail. When my hockey teammates nicknamed me "Motown" during my first year playing, I decided that resistance to this conception was futile. I have some friends in Canada who I've known for over two years who will still ask me, after holiday weekends, if I went to Detroit to visit my family. I've stopped trying to explain, stopped pulling out my hand map, and just resorted to simple yes or no answers.

Since I've lived in Ontario, I've been to Detroit several times, and not just on my way to other parts of the state. Detroit is only as far from where I live now as it was from Grand Rapids. Add the time at the border crossing of course, but if timed right, it's a worthwhile trip. Most often we are going to Red Wings' games, but we will also go shopping, out for dinner, or to meet up with friends. On our most recent trip to the Detroit area, Sarah and I were sitting in a restaurant near the entrance of a mall, and I was watching all the locals coming and going. It was nowhere near baseball season, but almost everyone that came into the mall had either a Tigers hat, sweatshirt, or jacket bearing the big Olde English "D." After about 45 minutes of observing this recurring characteristic, I thought about how people in Detroit are very proud of being from Detroit. Detroit is commonly thought of, in both Canada and the US, as the worst possible city to visit. Clearly, the people who live in the Detroit area or who grew up there feel this stigma and know that any misconceptions of the city are automatically extended to them as residents or products of the area. Therefore, they have reacted by becoming even more proud of their hometown. On the highway in southeast Michigan, you'll see the big "D" decals on so many vehicles. I can't back this up with statistics, but I certainly believe that not all these people are avid baseball fans--the "D" has come to represent something much larger than the Tigers. "Defiance" and "determination" come to mind.

I recently overheard someone from Ontario remarking that Detroit was the ugliest city he'd ever seen. Someone else then chimed into the conversation about how "scary" Detroit is. I've been all over downtown Detroit. I've seen some "scary" areas, and I've seen some great areas. I also have seen the area just off the Ambassador Bridge that Canucks see when they come into the US via Detroit, usually on their way to somewhere other than Michigan. If that neighborhood is all they've really experienced of Detroit, I can see how that memory would mesh with the other stereotypes of Detroit as seen on TV. I can say honestly, though, that I've been scared out of my wits in Chicago more times than I've ever been afraid while in Detroit.

I certainly admire people who live in a not-so-pleasant climate in a state with a decimated economy who can still be proud of that place. In the same way that I have no tolerance for unfair stereotypes of Americans, I have no tolerance for unfair stereotypes of Detroit. I have also tired of trying to explain to people that though I'm from Michigan, I'm not from Detroit, and so for all these reasons, I'm calling Detroit my adopted hometown. I feel an inexplicable sense of belonging when I'm in Detroit that I don't even feel yet in Ontario. And I know that, because of the reputation of Detroit as tough, I pick up instant street cred by claiming it as my own.

Sarah is from northern England, and similarly to the US, there is a big north-south divide there. She also grew up being told how she, as a northerner, was different from southerners (ie, Londoners). When she moved to North America, so many people she met instantly assumed she was from London. For a while, she vigilantly fought this perception, but then after a while, stopped trying to explain that she was from Nottingham and not from London. Her gradual attachment to London has been similar to my gradual attachment to Detroit. She spent so much of her life defining herself as not from London, but when she moved to a different country, suddenly she found she actually had more in common with the people from that city than she did with her new countrymen. I can't help but think that all the Ontarians I have observed contemptuously identifying themselves as not from Toronto would feel much more affection towards Canada's largest city if they moved out of Canada.

Shopping Lists!

Quite often, when my friends in Canada find out that I have an upcoming trip to “the States,” I get requests to bring back items that are either not readily available in Canada or are much cheaper to buy in the US. Over time, I also began getting similar requests from my US friends for items they wanted me to bring them from Canada.

Now when I am planning any cross-border excursions, I generally have three shopping lists. The first shopping list is for purchases I must complete in Canada before I leave for the US. On this list, I will usually have:

• Ketchup-flavored potato chips
• Kinder Surprise chocolate (but not those dangerous eggs >http://news.sympatico.cbc.ca/consumernews/kinder_surprise_egg_seized_at_us_border/84fa70ed)

• Alexander Keith’s India Pale Ale
• Sleeman Draught
• Swiss Chalet seasoning mix
• Maple flavored cookies
• Ice wine
• Spectro Jel
• Kettle-cooked peanuts

The second list is my list of what I need to purchase in the US to bring back for my Canadian friends. It used to be that my top request was for Aleve, but luckily for me, that is now available in Canada, so I have more time to shop for other items. My list of stuff to pick up in Michigan for the Canucks usually includes:

• Payday candy bars
• Cherry Coke
• Peanut Butter Captain Crunch
• Jalepeno Cheetos
• Flaming Hot Cheetos
• Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper
• Cornbread mix
• Beer or liquor (because it's cheaper than in Canada)
• Red Wings stuff

Then there is a third list of stuff I can’t get in Canada that I need to pick up for myself while in the US. This list includes:

• Canned white corn
• Roast beef hash
• Fat-free canned ravioli
• Mexican seasonings
• Nice, sweet Michigan wines
• Chili beans
• Pinto beans
• Slim Jims
• Mucinex
• Zyrtec-D
• Canine brewer’s yeast tablets
• Decent sunflower seeds (in shell)
• Spicy microwave popcorn
• 1% hydrocortisone cream

Another part of the third list is of stuff that inexplicably costs soooo much more in Canada, even though the identical product is sold in both countries.

• Chap Stick Moisturizing lip balm ($1 in US, $3.50 in Canada)
• Pure cranberry juice--not from concentrate ($4 in US, $11 in Canada)
• Case of 24 bottles of beer--example, Miller Chill ($17 in US, $42 in Canada)
• Emergen-C drink mix ($9 per box in US, $21 in Canada)

I do know that some of the items on my lists are available in both countries, but, again, either they are much more expensive in one country, or they are not easy to find in both countries.

I’d be very interested to know what types of items my readers have found lacking in one country or another. Leave me some comments with your shopping lists. Or, if you know of a store in Canada that is easily accessible and carries some of the items I previously was buying in the US, I would appreciate that information as well!

One final note—after just returning from the US, I was happy to come back to Canada with two large tubes of 1% hydrocortisone cream that cost me less than $10. I am allergic to many things, as is my dog, so we both get through a lot of hydrocortisone. Much to my dismay, the best I can find in Canada are small tubes of .5% hydrocortisone cream which cost about $7 each. The 1% is much more effective for bug bites, hives, and the like. I was putting the cortisone I had just purchased from the US into my medicine cabinet, and out of curiosity, I checked out the label. The brand was a US store brand. But sure enough, the fine print on the label said “Made in Canada.”

Thanksgiving vs. Thanksgiving

Last week Thursday was a landmark day for me. I was in Canada, at the office, working away at insurance while the whole of the United States was celebrating what is arguably their most beloved holiday—Thanksgiving. This was the first time in my life that I had to go to work or school on the fourth Thursday of November. Oh, and it was also the first time in my life that I had to go to work or school on the fourth Friday in November, as I had always been fortunate enough to have jobs where I was given both Thanksgiving and the following day off from work or school.

The first two years I was in Canada, I was sure to take these days off and travel to Michigan to meet up with my family. This year, however, for various reasons, I just simply did not have enough vacation days left. Earlier this year, my parents suggested that our family rent a beach house in Florida for Christmas, and I warned them that if I was going to take off those extra days in December, I wouldn’t have enough vacation remaining to spend US Thanksgiving with them as well.

But as November got closer and eventually arrived, I started to feel the pain of this decision. In a previous post (ironically about Canadian Thanksgiving), I mentioned that one typically feels the loneliest when surrounded by others who are not lonely. Thanks to the blessings of modern technology, I now have Facebook flaunting all the fun things my friends are doing, and this was particularly trying as my friends and family in the US began posting their Thanksgiving travel plans, the benefits of a three-day work week, and their planned recipes for Thanksgiving dinner dishes. Despite our earlier agreement, my parents continued to call me weekly starting in September, asking if I would be visiting for Thanksgiving. I reminded them that I had no vacation time, and assured them, to their great disbelief, that we do not get US Thanksgiving day or the following Friday as a paid holiday in Canada.

Several of my Canadian friends, in response to my complaining about missing the big US holiday said, "Well, just make your own turkey dinner!" My response was, "Yeah, that’s easy to do on a Thursday when I’ve been at work until 5 pm. I can get home, take off my coat, and throw a turkey in the oven and get peeling potatoes!"

The day before US Thanksgiving, I was out to lunch with some friends here in Canada, and I was lamenting that I would not be able to celebrate the upcoming holiday and how hard it was for me emotionally. Their sharp rebuke? "But you’ve ALREADY had your Thanksgiving holiday!!" They were, of course, referring to Canadian Thanksgiving, which is on the second Monday in October.

I stammered, grasping for some sort of justification for my sadness, and I eventually countered with the brilliant and always appreciated, "Yes, but US Thanksgiving is better!" The dubious glances and smirks I received in return demanded a further explanation. "Really, it is the second-biggest holiday in the US, " I added. "Everyone loves it because they have time off work, spend time with their families, and there are no religious or gift-giving obligations. They can just have fun with their families."

My friend Jamie then said, "Yes, but most people HATE spending time with their extended families! They find that stressful." I thought about it for a minute and just laughed, but I realized there was more than a grain of truth in her statement.

Over the next couple of days, while I was at work trying not to think that I really shouldn’t be at work at all, my mind kept wandering back to Jamie’s statement. Do most people really dislike going to large family gatherings, and if so, why do Americans like Thanksgiving so much? And why does it seem to me to be so much more of a fun and relaxing holiday than Canadian Thanksgiving?

Granted, I have been in Canada for three Thanksgivings, but I’ve celebrated thirty-six US Thanksgivings, so obviously my take is a bit biased. But I have determined that US Thanksgiving does have more to offer as a holiday than Canadian Thanksgiving, even considering the way so many people feel about spending time with their extended families. Here are the reasons that I love and miss US Thanksgiving, including the reasons that make it more enjoyable than its Canadian counterpart.

1) Genuine tradition. Thanksgiving was started in what is now the United States. I think it’s great that the Canadians decided to pick up on the idea and make their own holiday, but really, it’s an American tradition. (Yes, I know that Canada is part of North America and Canadians could call themselves "Americans," but until the word "America" is actually part of the formal name of their country, I will mean "United States of America people" when I say "Americans" because "United Statesians" is a bit too much of a mouthful.)

2) Lack of religious obligation. I was right about this the first time. Jesus may be the reason for the season at Christmas, and the first Thanksgiving was firmly rooted in Christianity, but as a Catholic, I can assure you that Thanksgiving is not a holy day of obligation. While many churches do have services on Thanksgiving, I don’t believe any mainstream religions require attendance. I am not saying that having to go to church ruins a holiday (and I’m not saying it doesn’t), but the best holidays are those that are free of any pre-determined time commitments. This, in itself, doesn’t differentiate US from Canadian Thanksgiving, but it does help explain why Thanksgiving is as well-loved as, if not more so than, Christmas.

3) Lack of gift obligations. I was right about this as well when I was explaining my rationale to my friends. Everyone loves Christmas. Christmas is everyone’s favorite holiday. Christmas is everyone’s favorite time of year. Well, at least it is their favorite until they are in the mall at the last minute, digging through the bubble bath sets and magnetic chess games, competing with other shoppers to buy something for someone out of a feeling of obligation to get them a gift whether that recipient needs anything or not and regardless of whether the giver really wants to give a gift. No one I know gives any presents at Thanksgiving. This means that there is a major family-themed holiday without the stress of buying, wrapping, and exchanging presents.

4) Two days off work. Some people, such as those in important jobs like nurses, police, and retail clerks, do not get the day after Thanksgiving off. But, most others do. Manufacturing plants are generally closed on the Friday after, as are schools and most types of businesses. This creates a four-day weekend as opposed to the three-day weekend in Canada.

5) Fewer outdoor pressures due to the time of year. Canadians and Americans both spend a lot of time and effort indoors for Thanksgiving—preparing meals, cleaning in anticipation of guests. But, in the US and particularly in the northern climates, there is little to do outside. Usually, the leaves have all been raked, the grass has stopped growing, and it has yet to start snowing. What this means to Americans is that they can sit around and relax for four days without feeling like they really should be out raking the leaves or mowing the lawn. In Michigan, from time to time, we had to shovel the walkway if it had snowed significantly, but that was only if we were having people over.

6) No putting off the hard stuff. Canadian Thanksgiving is on a Monday, at the end of a three-day weekend. Canadians may celebrate the holiday during the weekend, but most I know actually have their family gathering and dinner on the Monday. In the US, most people have their family get-together on the Thursday. Jamie is right—many people do not like to spend so much time with their extended family purely out of familial expectations. I can definitely vouch for this, as starting from the time I was quite young, my immediate family would go away for the whole four-day weekend so as to avoid the stressful festivities with the extended family. But, even saying that, even those who do not relish rejoicing with relatives, at least it is over quickly. Wednesday you’re at work, then you go home, stop at the store, get up Thursday, start cooking, go to the family gathering, eat a giant meal, and then go home on Thursday night. Before you know it, the compulsory family requirement is over AND YOU STILL HAVE A THREE-DAY WEEKEND TO LOOK FORWARD TO!!!! In Canada, the stress of preparing the meal gets prolonged and the weekend is spent preparing for the holiday on Monday.

7) Shopportunities. Even Canadians are familiar with the joys and sorrows of Black Friday. The retail sales are usually well-publicized and worth checking out for shoppers. This Friday became black mainly because so many people have the day off, and it is the last extra day they will have off until Christmas Eve. So, what better time to shop? The beauty of Black Friday is that people who don’t want to go shopping are free to just relax at home. The meal is already over and done. Football games are on TV. There is probably not urgent yard work to do, and if there was, in most parts of the US it would be too cold anyway. And, while lounging around, one can take advantage of the many glorious leftovers from the prior day’s feast. And after Friday? There’s still a whole weekend left.

Is there anything I prefer about Canadian Thanksgiving? Well, there is one characteristic that somehow redeems it—it’s lack of proximity to Christmas. US Thanksgiving is almost always within a month of Christmas, which means that most Americans have their two biggest holidays concentrated into a five-week period. If I could move US Thanksgiving, I wouldn’t move it to October for the reason explained in number 5 above. Maybe I’d move it a bit earlier in November? Actually, I think it would be great in early March, when there is almost nothing to celebrate and Americans are in the midst of their five-month hiatus from major holidays that stretches from Jan. 1 to the last Monday in May. But then, if Thanksgiving was in March, it just wouldn’t be the same because of the traditions explained in number 1 above as well as because of the traditions that families have created themselves over the years. And for those Americans who are reading this blog, if you can’t imagine that Thanksgiving would ever be quite the same or quite as good if it was in March, then you know how it feels for me when it falls on a Monday in October.

Language Lessons from the Canucks!

Currently, I am taking a couple of classes. The first is an insurance class, and the second is an intermediate-level Spanish class. The insurance class is very dry, the material mostly common sense, and the information is stuff I already know from similar classes I completed in the US. But, if I am to complete my Canadian insurance designation, I still have to complete six more of these classes. The Spanish class has absolutely nothing to do with my job—I just enjoy language, and because I have a bit of a background in Spanish language, I thought I would pick it up again to help stave off Alzheimer’s.

Over the past week, I have learned more about the cultural connections to learning languages than I have in the entire time since I moved to Canada in 2008.

The first story is very disturbing, so you may not want to skip a few paragraphs if you have a weak stomach. Okay, not really, but it was disturbing to me. I was going through my Underwriting Essentials textbook and making notes as a way to study for my upcoming midterm exam. One topic I need to know was the four stages of fire. I started making my little bullet point list. I wrote, “Incipient, smouldering, fire. . .” and then stopped in horror as I couldn’t believe what I had just seen my hand write. Smouldering? SmOUldering??? What was this? My mind began racing—was this how the word was really spelled? Was this how I had always spelled the word? Was this a Canadian spelling, a US spelling, or both? I quickly consulted my handy chart of differences between US and Canadian spelling. The word was not on the chart in any form. My next step was to consult dictionary.com to see if “smoldering” was a legitimate spelling. Without the “u,” it did look odd to me. Sure enough, dictionary.com showed the definition for “smoldering” and I stared at the screen, stunned, as I came to terms with the fact that I had unknowingly began incorporating Canadian spellings.

I have wondered for a while if this would happen, and if it did happen, how long it would take. Apparently the answer for me is two years. I will now sometimes do a double take when I see “neighbor” or “favorite” spelled without the “u.” Since I moved here, I have been using my backspace key, fighting with Microsoft’s AutoCorrect when it adds Us that I didn’t type to words. I’m not sure if I care whether the U is there or not, but I don’t like the computer telling me how I should have spelled words that I already know how to spell.

As someone who usually has no problems with spelling (although the frequent typos in this blog might lead you to believe otherwise), the evidence provided by the smouldering gun was disturbing—I no longer could be confident that I knew how to spell certain words. I’ll soon be reduced to a fragile and shivering shell of my formerly sure-spelling self.

My Spanish class has provided a language experience on a whole new level. Yes, obviously I’m learning Spanish. But, I am now learning Spanish with a bunch of Canucks, and those Canucks add an unexpected aspect to the learning.

Most Americans of my age or younger have had some Spanish language education while in elementary or high school. It just so happens that back in the early 1980s, my third-grade teacher was married to a Uruguayan, and she would often give us mini lessons in Spanish. I also had two years in high school and another year in college (university). Even those Americans who have never taken a formal Spanish class have been exposed to a significant amount of Spanish through bi-lingual labels, signs, pop-culture references, and cultural events. This is almost a direct parallel with the way that most Canadians have some level of French comprehension, whether they’ve taken formal French classes or not.

Before I moved to Canada, I enrolled in a French language class because I thought this would be beneficial for me when I moved. I have never found languages difficult, but I really struggled with French. I couldn’t tell when you pronounced letters, when you didn’t, and why was there no rhyme or reason to emphasizing syllables? Looking back, I am pretty sure that I and all of my classmates pronounced all of the French with Spanish accents. How can I be so sure? Because all of my current classmates in my Spanish class pronounce Spanish with a French accent!

Sometimes my fellow students provide what is, to me, a comical combination of French and Spanish without even realizing it. Phrases such as “mon amigo,” “nouveau casa,” and “Sud America” make me chuckle inside. Each night in class, I am exposed to a new Frenish phrase. I seem to be the superstar of my class because I don’t struggle with the pronunciation of Spanish words—I know to pronounce the letter E when it appears at the end of a word. I think it’s just years of being exposed to Spanish words. The preposition “de,” common in both languages, is pronounced “day” in Spanish. Yet, my classmates cannot seem to break the habit of pronouncing it as “duh,” just as I consistently pronounced it “day” when I was taking French.

In my most recent Spanish class, some interesting biases of the Canadians were revealed which surprised me a great deal. Our teacher was trying to get us to practice using the past tense, so he asked us in Spanish, “What did you do last Saturday?” (¿Qué hiciste el sábado pasado?) When I asked, I responded with “I played ice hockey.” (Jugué hockey de hielo.) Everyone in the class became concerned because they didn’t know what “hielo” meant. The instructor explained that it meant “ice.” A classmate blurted out, “Well, doesn’t that go without saying?”

The vast majority of the world’s population will think “hockey” means field hockey. In fact, that would be the assumption almost anywhere except Canada and parts of the US. And although the Honduran and Venezuelan hockey teams did very well in the last winter Olympics, I think that adding the “ice” descriptor might be beneficial in countries where Spanish is the first language. My filter was off, so I blurted out in response, “Yeah, only in Canada does that go without saying.” I don’t think that statement did me any favors.

Later that night in class, the lady sitting next to me whispered, “Do you think they have any curse words in Spanish? I don’t think they do. They must just be very polite?” My filter was still not on, so I belted out “What?! Are you kidding me?!” which promptly gained the attention of the entire class and the instructor. The instructor, who is from Colombia, also looked a bit puzzled that the student would think that there were no swear words in Spanish, so she explained her question, “Well, we all know all the swear words in French, so I just thought that if there were swear words in Spanish, we would have already known about them.”

At least in Spanish, there aren’t too many words spelled with an “ou” in them. The “ou” spellings in English words are directly derived from French, and the Canucks preoccupation with French languages, for better or worse, indicates that these spellings aren’t going away any time soon. I’m going to have to make an extra effort to keep these language concepts separate in my head, or pretty soon I won’t know how to spell or pronounce anything correctly whether it’s French, English, or Spanish!

Political Pains

Americans are very fond of aligning themselves with political parties. Those political affiliations play a large role in defining Americans as people. If you are a Republican, this is more than just a footnote on your personality profile—it becomes a badge of honor that you wear and defend every day. The same holds true with those who are Democrats. Your party affiliation can influence where you shop, where you buy gas, what apolitical charities you support, what clubs you will join, what sports teams back, and who you will befriend. Over 75% of Americans, when they register to vote, register as a member of one party or the other if that option is available in their states. Sure, there are other fringe parties in US politics, but these are either so short-lived or have too small of a membership to hold any significance. And, because there are only two major parties in the US, and because these parties are polar opposites, the social and political divide in the US is massive. I would go so far as to say that there is a lot of anger and hatred between voters of these parties.

In Canada, there are three, and some would argue four or five, major political parties. The comparatively abundant number of viable political philosophies effectively results in less dramatic and obvious polarization in Canada. I have yet to uncover any evidence that Canadians are given the option of registering as a member of a specific party when they register to vote. My conversations with Canadians has led me to make three generalizations that embody the political differences between Canadian and American voters: 1) Canadians are not as committed to parties--they will support a candidate for her beliefs and plans rather than solely based on her party affiliation; 2) Canadians don’t define themselves or judge others on their perceived or actual party affiliations; 3) Canadians who do align with a particular party do not necessarily view this as a permanent state nor do they agree wholesale with all of the positions that party espouses.

I have found these characteristics of the Canadian political landscape to be quite refreshing. While I was in the US, I would, right or wrong, judge someone based on what party they support. Oh, and for those of you who have not lived in the US, it’s easy to tell what party someone supports—Americans are not shy about sharing what many would consider to be very private information. You can tell a lot about Americans' political beliefs by the stickers they put on their cars, the signs they put in their yards, and most of all, the loud verbal broadcasts of their opinions occurring when they are sure that not only are their beliefs the right beliefs, but that everyone around will agree with them and nod approvingly at their wisdom.

I grew up in an area of Michigan that is close to 90% Republican leaning. As I got older and realized that there was almost nothing about the Republican tenets that meshed with my own beliefs, I also realized I was part of a very small minority. I was not really safe speaking out about my own political beliefs on issues unless I was certain I was in the company of like-minded individuals. Otherwise, I would be ganged up on by the Republicans. I became quite adept at identifying the non-Republicans in my midst and making connections. (I need to clarify that I hesitate to call myself a Democrat as I refused to identify a party affiliation when I registered to vote. Although I generally support Democratic candidates, I have no desire to align myself with a party.) I could also very easily identify the Republicans around me as they were not shy about divulging their opinions—why would they be? They’re surrounded by so many like-minded people in West Michigan.

Knowing that the Republican party does not support equal marriage rights (or equal rights for gays in general), and that those who vote for Republicans are essentially voting against my equal rights, created many a dilemma for me during my adult life in West Michigan. How could I be friends with someone who was proudly Republican? Even those Republicans, some of whom are in my own family, who say that they still support Sarah and me, vote against my constitutionally-granted rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness every time they cast a Republican ballot. I kept known Republicans at an arm’s length. I had been hurt too often by “friends” who eventually confided in me that they didn’t really believe I should have the right to marry Sarah, even if it meant me having to leave the country of my birth. They would happily take my tax money, invite me to their homes for dinner, accompany me to festivals. But, what their flagrant political opinions screamed to me was, “Sure, I like you, but I don’t believe that you deserve the same rights that I enjoy.”

If I started to befriend someone new and then gleaned any information indicating Republican inclinations, I would halt the progression of the relationship. After all, how could I ever be myself around that person? How could I introduce my wife without worrying it would make that person (and consequently me) uncomfortable, or even worse, prompt an I-don’t-mind-as-long-as-I-don’t-have-to-see-it, love-the-sinner-hate-the-sin response?

Thinking about the friends I had (and mostly still have) in Michigan, I believe I only had one good friend who was Republican. That relationship was (and still is) trying on many levels, as there are certain topics we can just never discuss. As much as I love this person and value her as a friend, there is always an indescribable barrier that prevents us from being as completely open and honest with each other as we are with our other friends.

Perhaps I’ve been a bit naïve since I’ve moved to Canada. I know that gay marriage is law here and that there are people who aren’t necessarily comfortable with gay marriage. However, even those people, for the most part, don’t outwardly exhibit indicators of their disapproval. I have been buzzing around Canada for two years in ignorant bliss, believing that everyone was okay with Sarah and me. Out of an ingrained fear of a negative reaction, I don’t usually “out” myself to anyone until I have a good reason. Any time I have been upfront with Canadians about my relationshis, the revelation had about as much impact as if I’d told them I drive a blue car.

But, a negative reaction was bound to happen sometime, and I have known this all along. Canadians are more tolerant in general, but there are still those who fear and dislike others who are different. I came face-to-face with this situation earlier this month.

I went to lunch with someone I considered a friend. This guy is extremely friendly, intelligent, and well-read. My own prejudices caused me to assume that anyone who is intelligent is also open-minded. I had noticed a bumper sticker on my friend’s car promoting a certain Canadian political candidate known for being ultra-conservative. I was surprised to see a campaign bumper sticker at all, as this is not a common sight in Canada, and I was even more surprised that someone I thought of as intelligent and open-minded would support such a candidate.

Next, I did something very foolish, something I wouldn’t have done when I was living in the US. He made some joke about his bumper sticker, and then I said, “Are you a Conservative?” [Capital “C” intended here as I am referring to the Canadian party not the adjective.] His startled look in response to my impulsive inquiry caused me to follow up with, “Oh, I don’t know if it’s appropriate to ask that in Canada.”

He smirked and replied, “Yes, I am a Conservative.” I felt that awful sick feeling come over me that I used to get when I lived in Michigan and discovered that someone I liked or admired was a Republican. I remembered that Conservatives in Canada are not usually as right-wing as Republicans, so I gave him a chance to redeem himself in my eyes by asking, “Are you a fiscal conservative or a social conservative?” this time focusing on the rationale for his support of the Conservatives.

He looked me in the eye and said deliberately, “I’m a Conservative.” This response didn’t make me feel any better, so I decided it was time for him to lay all his cards on the table. I swallowed hard and squeaked out, “Do you support gay marriage?” He continued to stare me in the eyes and said unapologetically, without hesitation, “No.”

The sick feeling in my stomach intensified and I couldn’t believe I was actually having lunch with someone who thought I didn’t deserve the rights I had travelled so far to get. He knew about Sarah. He knew my story about having to leave the US. As much as I had to give him credit for being honest with me, I couldn’t look him in the eye. Finally I managed a helpless and weak “Why?” He explained that even though he was not a Christian, he really liked Christian values. I stared at him in disbelief—I know he lives with his girlfriend, and that, in terms of supposed “Christian” morals, his objection to my relationship was inconsistent with his own relationship status. I wanted to point this out, but by this juncture in the conversation, I had already given up on the friendship and didn’t want to belabor the issue.

Was it a mistake to ask him so directly about his beliefs? I don’t know. I guess I feel like, after all I’ve been through and how much I’ve given up to be who I am, I have a right to know how my “friends” perceive me. Was it foolish for me to assume that most Canadians are okay with my “lifestyle”? Definitely. Now I am left to wonder how many of my friends in Canada are actually supportive of Sarah and my relationship. I probably won’t ask anyone else. I’ll just wait until I can observe clues, which will take a bit longer than it did with people in Michigan as Canadians are a bit more private about their beliefs.