Perhaps no other time of year reminds me more of my upbringing
than Christmas. As a kid of German immigrants
growing up in rural Ontario meant often feeling “different”. My home town was pretty “white bread” and I
was the kid with a rye bread and salami sandwich in my lunch box and a piece of
cake that nobody had seen before… not to mention the impossible to pronounce
names of said cakes. My parents had the
heavy foreign accents and had the odd hard to pronounce names. There was some taunting
at times, some odd looks, but for the most part we were welcomed and accepted as
neighbours. I was also grateful for parents that also
embraced “Canadian” ways of doing things and genuinely tried to allow me to be
like my friends as much as possible…even if it meant a peanut butter sandwich
on Wonder bread in my lunch…after protesting the rye bread. Levis jeans, Kodiak boots, and Roots earth shoes
were readily available in my closet. But
some things were non-negotiable. My Dad
wore Birkenstocks long before it was fashionable for men to wear sandals. We
celebrated Christmas on the 24th, not the 25th, we didn’t
have stockings by the fireplace, and we had homemade pizza at midnight, no
Turkey dinners. And on December 6, St. Nicholas paid a visit to our house but
NOT to any of my schoolmate’s homes.
But all that was many
years ago, and Canada seems to be much more multi-cultural now than in the 1970’s
with diversity a more accepted reality. Now as a parent, married to someone who’s family
has been here for many generations, it’s kind of up to me to carry forward some
of the cultural traditions of my youth and my family’s history. I have never lived as a hyphenated Canadian nor
do I want my son to take on that identity, but I do want him to be proud of his
roots and enjoy some of the traditions. As my parents get older and with virtually no
other living connections in the “old country” it’s now in my court to try to
maintain some traditions and history.
Perhaps the other lesson for my son and I, is the reminder
that it’s okay to be different, and bring something unique to the table. The catalyst for this blog was the passing of
St. Nicholas Day just a short while ago. Truth be known, I remembered it at the
last possible moment and my 5 year old son was
a little baffled by my sudden suggestion that he polish his boots. But he diligently obliged his dad, and we had
a brief discussion of what St Nicholas day was all about. The conversation was brief mainly because my
memory of what it was about had faded…or maybe I never really knew? But today I
renew a commitment to relearn about my roots, and share that richness with my
son.
Much of the German heritage I grew up with has been fading as I
get older. We are a Canadian household. But
I hang onto a few quirks of the immigrant experience, the feather pillows, down
duvets, and regular trips to the “German Store” for some rich rye breads, coffee, smoked
meats, marzipan and dark chocolate. The
young lad embraces some of it…he’s not keen on the rye bread…yet. Maybe I’ll send him to school this week with a
rye bread and salami sandwich….for old time sake!
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