“They Say it's Your Birthday....It's My Birthday Too, Yeah.” – The Beatles

Both of my grandfathers were in World War 2. 

My mom’s father was in the Air Force and their family moved around all across Canada every couple of years the whole time my mom was growing up.  Her father was a medic in the war.......my grandfather who died when I was five, so I never got to talk to him about his experiences overseas.  By all accounts, my grandfather was a  fun loving guy – a lover, not a fighter - and he did not want to talk about the war at all when he got back.  I really don’t know a lot about where he was stationed....I suppose I could find out.  I don't know how he survived the war, how it changed him, how it defined him.  After he returned home from the war, he left the Air Force and went to work as an accountant in a hospital.  He had a heart condition, he drank a lot, was the life of the party, he loved his family and died at 48.  Maybe that early death was a reflection of what the war did to him, but that's just speculation.

My father’s father enlisted in the 48th Highlanders, which is an Infantry reserve.  He was married with a young daughter when he went to England but his experiences in the war were the defining moments of his life.  He is a small but tough Ukrainian guy who breaks your hand when he shakes it, washes dishes with boiling hot water and pulls shrapnel out of his own leg in his garage….he’s THAT guy.  Chuck Norris’ brother from another mother.  He does not show vulnerability or make small talk….but after 94 years alive on this earth, he has got some fantastic stories to tell and most of them revolve around the war.

He has always talked about the war with a lot of pride which caused a lot of tension between him and my grandmother.  He spent a significant amount of time in England, France and Holland and had a serious girlfriend in Holland….she might even have had his kid after the war ended but he did his duty and returned home to his wife and daughter.  This was no secret in my family.  My grandmother had her picture and showed it to me once when I was a teenager.  I think she thought he was living it up overseas...having the time of his life.  And she resented him for it, unfortunately.

 My grandfather spent a year and a half in England training with the British Army before he went to France and then Holland, where he stayed until the war ended.  He was a sniper.  He likes to tell stories about the famous people who came to entertain the troops and the boots he stole from  German soldiers (he presumably killed) and the time he got to dance with Princess Elizabeth and the Nazi bank he and his fellow officers broke into.  He gave his share of whatever they found there to his girlfriend in Holland when he went back to Canada.

I have to admit, I love hearing his war stories.  He’s 94 years old and has a mind like a steel trap…he remembers everything and he’s a great storyteller.  I didn’t always love his stories – especially while my grandmother was alive since it made her so upset when he started talking about it - but in the last 7 or so years, and especially after I moved to the States, hearing his stories helps me feel connected to Canada, and to him, in a way that they didn’t before. 

I never heard him get emotional telling a story until a few years ago when after a bottle of wine I asked him if he had ever seen any of the concentration camps.  Then he told me for the first time how he and his regiment liberated one of the camps but he didn’t know which one, only that it was in Holland.  I looked it up online…..I’m pretty sure it must have been Vught.  He said he still sees the faces with blank eyes and sunken cheeks staring out from behind the fences, the boney hands grabbing at the soldiers' coats as they broke those fences down, the way they all just stood there after the fence was down....they didn't know where to go or what to do, what his regiment did to the German officers they found there. 

When I was younger, I didn't understand how he could be so proud, so boastful when he told these stories.  Some of these experiences were so awful, you'd think he would be humbled by them...grateful to be alive.  It occurred to me as I got older that he wasn't really capable of showing humility and gratitude 'cos that makes you vulnerable and that was just not something he could ever show, especially when he was a younger man.  It was up to me to accept him, love him, understand him anyway.  But more importantly, he was telling me these stories so that I would feel humbled and grateful.  Who was I to judge how boastful and proud he was when he was the one who willingly gave up his youth, allowed his entire life, individuality and spirit to be shaped by the horrors he witnessed? 

The only question my grandfather has ever refused to answer is “have you ever killed anyone?”.  It’s a question I asked 20 years ago before I knew he was a sniper.  He just looked at me with his clear blue eyes like I was a fucking moron.  After I found out he was a sniper, I didn’t need to ask.  After he told me that I saw “Enemy at the Gates” and it became one of my favourite war movies ever ‘cos it told me something about my grandfather’s life even though it’s not a Canadian story. 

I'm willing to bet that someone reading this has had similar experiences with their American or British loved one as I do with my Canadian grandfather.  These experiences don't stop at the border.  And in fact, as my grandfather told me many times, "I didn't need a passport to go to war....they just loaded us up on a cargo plane and we went to England."  To him, a border between countries is meaningless. 

Ever since I moved to the States, the first week of July is always a really weird week.  I’m a Canadian Citizen living in the United States.   July 1 is Canada Day…..a huge holiday where everyone in Canada goes, “Hey let’s have a barbecue and get drunk to celebrate being a part of the British Empire!”.   Then July 4, Independence Day, rolls around and everyone in the US goes, “Hey let’s have a barbecue and get drunk to celebrate being rid of those damned Brits!”.

Yup, weird.  Kind of like the kid stuck in the middle of two fighting parents.  Who am I loyal to?  Canada is my birth home…I’ll always be Canadian, not a thing can change that.  But the US has embraced me and I have embraced it, warts and all.  And Britain is my spiritual and cultural home…I love it there, so there’s that.

Given the WW2 history between Canada, the US and Britain, it has always seemed inappropriate to me to be at opposite ends of the spectrum with our July celebrations.  I dunno, it just seems strange to me. 

 

So I don’t really acknowledge either holiday.  It’s great to have a day off work…..but it’s just another day off work.  Two years ago, my passport was expiring around this time and I needed it to get back into the country if I left the US since my VISA was in it and I hadn’t gotten my Green Card in the mail yet.  So I went to Canada on July 4 so I could get a super expensive same day passport.  I don’t even remember what I did last year.  This year I'll go watch the fireworks with a friend because he really wants to.

I’m pretty sure I’m going to become a US Citizen.  I mean, I’ve given it some thought but there are serious responsibilities to becoming a dual Citizen.  For one thing, the US doesn’t even recognize dual citizenship.  When you take your oath, you “declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty, of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen.” 

That’s pretty clear.  But I don’t want to give up my Canadian Citizenship….ever.  Conveniently, Canada doesn’t recognize you saying the words of that oath as you giving up your Citizenship.    If I want to give up my Canadian Citizenship, I have to sign a form and pay a fee to the Canadian government.  So I could declare the oath with the US, and far as they’re concerned, I’m theirs…but by not telling the Canadian government in an official capacity, they still think I’m theirs.  And that’s how you become a dual Citizen of the US.  By lying, essentially.

If I were a dual citizen, I could not enjoy the privileges of both citizenships when travelling.  Whatever passport I use to enter a country, that country recognizes me as that citizen.  So for example, if I went to Italy and used my US passport, if I got into trouble in that country, I could only call the US Embassy…I could not rely on Canada’s help since I did not use my Canadian passport to enter that country. 

If I became a US Citizen and then moved to another country, I would need to file a US tax return every year for the rest of my life, no matter if I ever live in the US again or not.  And of course I’d have to file in whatever country I live in as well.  Two tax returns?  I dunno.

The alternative is remaining a Permanent Resident, which means I can never ever vote in the US.  And if I’m going to live here, that seems unacceptable to me.  Not to mention that Canada only allows expats to vote in Canada for up to 5 years after leaving the country so in a couple years if I still live in the US and am still a Permanent Resident, I can’t vote anywhere.  I have no voting rights at all in any country.  Plus it means I am never done with USCIS.  I’ll have to renew my Green Card again in 10 years.....another $600 fee, another interview, more biometrics, more affidavits.

Definitely something to think about.  If Sam and I do not get divorced before next July, then I can apply for Citizenship next July.  If we do get divorced before next July, then I will need to wait until July 2017 to apply for Citizenship.  Either way, I have time to think about it.  That’s assuming USCIS doesn’t throw me out of the country before all that happens anyway.  The bust up of my marriage has left me feeling very vulnerable about the whole thing.

In any case, both Canada and the US are incredibly special to me.  I grew up in Southern Ontario very close to the US border.  Just like any other border kid, crossing the border was no big deal for me.  I always had American relatives in Attica (the town, not the prison), New Jersey and New York City and we’d visit them often.  My grandparents went to Florida for half the year and we’d go visit them.  We’d cross the border to get gas and groceries in Buffalo.  After I got my driver’s license, my friends and I would go clubbing in the States.  Many times I also crossed the border just to go the movies or out for dinner…it was just as close as going anywhere in Canada.  I know that seems crazy to people who don't live close to a border but for those of who do, it's no big deal.

So, honestly, I did not expect there to be a big difference when I moved to the US.  The landscape looks the same, the people look the same and speak the same language (other than that ridiculous Rochester accent), all the same shows are on TV in both countries (except the Food Network), all the same stores and brands.  Superficially, there are not a lot of differences.

But as they say, the difference is in the details.  Once you get past the surface of “everything is the same” and look a little deeper, you realize it really isn’t the same in many important ways.  The US spends most of their money on their military which doesn’t leave a lot for anything else.  It’s easy for Canada to criticize that and talk up its subsidized post-secondary education system, health care system and social programs, but if there was a serious war, Canada would need the help of the US military.  One country isn’t better than the other…they both have flaws, they both do great things, they’re both “real” countries but they have very different philosophies on the role government should play in the lives of its citizens. 

I’d love to go on a cross country trip across the US......get an RV and travel from town to town, state to state, stopping for anything interesting on the way, work in exchange for food and gas.  I was in Kansas once when I was a kid, but I don’t remember it.  I’ve been to Vegas twice but stayed pretty much on the strip.  Other than that, I’ve driven to Florida and back a number of times, have been all along the East Coast (which I love) and have been to Michigan.  There’s a lot more out there to see and I want to see it.

I’ve seen some of Canada but, again, not enough.  When I was 14, my mom, my brother and I took a bus across Canada to go visit my aunt, her husband and baby in Stewart, BC….a tiny town which borders Hyder, Alaska, another tiny town.   Greyhound had a special…go anywhere in Canada for $100….or something like that.  So, the three of us got on the bus for the five day trip across the country. 

The trip to my aunt’s place was filled with adventure.  Since there were three of us, someone always had to sit next to a stranger and since I am older than my brother, that someone was me.  So I sat next to a lot of characters and listened to a lot of questionable stories on the total 10 days we spent on the bus.  We stopped in some interesting places that I had no idea existed, the first of which was Wawa, ON.    Wawa’s claim to fame is its 30 foot statue of a Canadian goose.  

When I was younger, I got car sick pretty often.  I had to take Gravol (I don’t know what the US equivalent to that is…I just know I can’t find it in the US) while travelling.  Much to my mom’s horror, I must have not taken Gravol or ran out or something but at one point I got sick all over the stranger sitting next to me.  Literally threw up all over him.  The bus had to make an unplanned stop so this poor schmuck could clean up.

We stopped in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan  for my uncle’s wedding.  My uncle is a huge music fan and while I was at his place, I raided his album collection and recorded as many albums as I could on cassettes to listen to in my Walkman.  I still had a huge box of cassettes when I moved to the States….just got rid of them last year.  My favorite was the one I made at my uncle’s place….one side was Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the other was Roxy Music’s Flesh + Blood.  That cassette provided the soundtrack to the rest of the trip.

That trip was a life changing experience for me in many ways.  The way my aunt and her husband lived was very different than the way my parents lived.  My aunt and her husband lived in a teepee in the middle of a forest outside of Stewart.  The bus simply stopped on Highway 37 in the middle of nowhere to let us off – I have no idea how the driver even knew where to stop…it’s not like there were any buildings, any landmarks - and my aunt’s husband emerged from the forest to come and guide us back to the teepee.  On the trek through the woods, he pointed out the glacier stream they use for drinking water and refrigeration.  We stopped for a drink and the water in that stream was the coldest, purest, clearest water I had ever seen.  I could barely drink it ‘cos it was so cold.

The teepee was a one room structure, so they had set up a tent outside for the three of us to sleep in.  He showed us where the outhouse and the outdoor shower were.  There was no running water and no electricity.  The first night was kind of scary.  The trees were taller than any I had ever seen before – you could not see the sky - and the night was completely black.  There were animal sounds all around us everywhere…it really was a completely different experience for us and my mom did not like it at all.   In the middle of the night, after she had tried to go find the outhouse in the dark, she took us inside the teepee and my aunt’s husband went out to sleep in the tent by himself.
 

They hunted for moose to eat and for the fur and raised their own chickens for meat and eggs, so we ate moose and eggs while we were there.  I balked at eating moose so my aunt said she would make chicken and she went out to her yard, grabbed a chicken, killed it and cooked it….no big deal.  I was mortified.  Such a spoiled little princess.  One night as a treat for dinner we got a couple of King crabs…live King crabs.  Those suckers are HUGE.  In retrospect, this seems kind of cruel but we sat around the deck of the teepee and watched the crabs race around before we roasted them on an open fire and ate them. 

My aunt took us to Bear Glacier and told us how to react when we saw certain kinds of bears, which we did…lots of them.  We parked in Stewart and walked across the US border to Hyder, Alaska.  There was a tiny little shed in the parking lot which was the Customs office.  There was a sign on the door asking you to fill in a declaration form and drop it in the box…there was no one there manning the shed.  My brother and I thought this was hilarious since we were so used to the Peace Bridge.   We could not believe someone could just walk into another country and no one would even notice.  My aunt told us that Hyder is so tiny they don’t even have their own school, police or hospital.  US residents who live in Hyder go to Stewart, BC.  for school, police and medical care.

We watched the salmon run while Grizzly bears waded through the water and devoured salmon.  They could not have cared less we were there, as long as we didn’t get too close.  We spent a few hours wandering around looking at glaciers, which is a completely awesome and overwhelmingly beautiful experience.

I’m sure it was on that trip that I learned to love remote, unpopulated, wild spaces.  It also showed me that the border really is meaningless when it comes to how people live.  We had more in common with my cousins in Attica, NY than we did with my aunt and her family in Stewart, BC.  It’s been too long since I took a life changing trip like that and I’m hungry for another.  Canada or the US…doesn’t matter.  Either will do.   Both countries feed my soul and I could not imagine living on a different continent.  People joke about Canada becoming a State but honestly for me, that border is invisible.  I respect the differences of these two great countries and don't think either one of them should change who they fundamentally are.

So Happy Birthday Canada!  Happy Birthday America!  Celebrate!  You are both everything to me and I wouldn’t be who I am today without you.