I had the good fortune of becoming a Canadian Citizen this week. Now I officially hold two Citizenships (British and Canadian) so I'm feeling pretty lucky. At the swearing in ceremony we were asked to think back to the day we arrived in Canada. I was 12. My father had gone bankrupt in the UK and an uncle "arranged" a job for him, as well as passage and immigration for our family of 6. When we arrived 6 months after my father, we were taken to a very pokey little cottage, on loan to us until my father could secure a rental house. Although it was on Lake Huron, it was a damp and dark little place. We were left there with no car all week while my father went to his job in the city and had to wait until the weekend to get groceries etc. I hated everything about this move, especially leaving my grandparents behind in the UK. It was like we were thrown into strange waters without a life vest and it was sink or swim. Eventually we moved to the suburbs and muddled together a life of a transplant in a new country. I can't imagine what it was like for many of my fellow citizens at the ceremony, some who have come without the English language, some as refugees.
I was telling my story of my arrival 40 years ago to my adopted pet family, so they could understand their roots. They could barely keep their eyes open.