All in the Family...

Points North

By James Fife

I had been checking our mailbox in San Diego with a certain anxious anticipation for the last week or two. That was because I had made one of my periodic checks of the Citizenship and Immigration Canada website recently. I discovered that the status of my application for a citizenship certificate had changed from months of reading "Processing" to a portentous (but uninformative) "Decision Made." But the gnawing suspense about what that decision was did not last long, because within 10 days from noticing the change in online status, a brown, official envelope from Sydney, NS arrived in the mailbox. It was too big to be a mere rejection letter. And, sure enough, inside was a colourful, new certificate signed by the minister of immigration officially declaring that I was a Canadian citizen from birth.

I had been Canadian for 58 years and only in the last year ever suspected that could be the case. And now I was holding the legal proof in my hand. I knew all my life my father was born Canadian, but it never dawned on me how that affected my own legal status there. It was just one of the many ripples of change in my life that was caused by our decision to buy a retirement home in James Bay last year. Owning property naturally raised questions of how we could maximize our ability to use and enjoy our intended new home. That in turn led to rumours, eventually substantiated, that I might have derived Canadian citizenship from birth through my father and grandparents.

And now it proved true: I had in my hand the signed certificate with a florid rendition of the official seal of Canada at the top. How did it make me feel? A little unexpectedly, it caused a small sense of different-ness to pervade me. Surely, I was the same person I was before, but something about this official declaration gave me a sense that I had suddenly and unexpectedly learned something significant about myself. I was Canadian. And American. But what did that mean?

Part of what I felt, was the sense of relief and happiness that some aspects of shifting our lives from San Diego to Victoria in the future could be accomplished with much less complexity than might have been. Having full legal status definitely opened up new opportunities that were not contemplated before. Even if we do not need it as a “Trap-Door from Trump” come the fall elections, it is a comfort just to know that the option of a settled residence in James Bay is that much more achievable. Marilyn and I knew for some time that life in Canada held lots of delights and advantages; it's what caused us to have that primordial idea of investigating Victoria as a possible retirement haven. But now all sorts of unexpected side-line benefits made their appearance. I remembered back when I lived in Wales for a couple of years, I'd sometimes try to pass myself off as Canadian (or at least not rush to correct a mistaken assumption I was) in order to avoid the 'ugly American' treatment. But now, I can make it a reality by choosing to travel on a Canadian passport. Maybe especially if the election this year leaves the United States with a president who will be a particular object of scorn and embarrassment for four years.

These advantages of belonging to the Canadian family were already partially anticipated when I made my application to CIC. But, by coincidence, my certificate arrived in our mailbox the same day that Justin Trudeau arrived in Washington, DC on his official state visit. As all the pundits remarked, nothing like it had been seen in nearly 20 years. The American media nearly fell over themselves in giving Canada attention I had never observed them deign before. Suddenly, Canada was cool, and people actually talked about it and showed an interest. But it was quickly apparent that the gap between interest and familiarity was abysmal: in the 60 Minutes interview with Trudeau, the announcer had to take time to explain to the American audience that Ottawa was the capital, where Mr. Trudeau did his ‘prime-ministering.’ Still, the buzz about all things Canadian that arose during the visit was entirely new and delightfully coincidental for me. When I broke the news of my certificate to a Canadian colleague at work, she and I dove into the bizarre outbreak of interest in Canada caused by the visit of "our" prime minister. It was a strange feeling: I didn't vote for him, but, yes, he was now, in a sense, my prime minister too. I experienced a shift in my sense of identity. I felt a new us-and-them solidarity with her that was absent previously.

When my Canadian grandparents were born, Sir John Macdonald was in office. He was their prime minister. Now I was linked to them in that new way. And reflecting on the nature of that link, thoughts about the benefits of being a Canadian were replaced by new questions about what are my new obligations as a Canadian? I had thought before I should learn more about the history and culture of our new home, but more out of a sense of courtesy and curiosity. Now, I feel a bit like I have a duty to know those things. It's now a new responsibility to be aware of such matters, to know the country's story, to understand its life, and its ways. Not just as an intended resident. As a citizen. My Canadian-ness was simply thrust upon me, it's true, but so was my American-ness; both were an accident of birth. But I have a sense of duty to the country I grew up in, to likewise be aware and participate in its public life and care about its problems. Now, I realized, I should have the same devotion to understand and participate in my other homeland. 

I always sensed that having a foot in two lives, one in the US and one in Canada, would create some tension and a need to expand my world. But now that I am officially in the family, I have realized I need to take up my part. More concretely than I thought I would, I feel that I cannot now just take what Canada has to offer, but I have an obligation to offer back what I can give. I guess I might have felt something like that anyway, if only as a courtesy to our hosts. But now I'm no longer just a guest; I'm family. And that brings with it what one owes to other family members.

As I look again at that colourful certificate and its ornate crest, I am more than a bit bemused by how much a piece of paper can alter a wealth of perceptions about oneself and life going forward. But one thing I know for sure will come of it. The next time we manage a return to our home in James Bay, I will have a new sense of truly coming home in a way I hadn't felt before.