The Truth About Immigrants & Refugees!

In case you are wondering…I am a Canadian but born to immigrants. If you think immigrants and refugees are to blame for the ills of the world, I suggest you find a different blog to read.  Yes, I was born in Toronto 50 years ago but my Parents came here from Berlin Germany…as immigrants.

The recent events south of the border with the newly elected administration that thrives on #AlternativeFacts is sobering. Now with the horrific shooting at a Mosque in Quebec, I am reminded of the ever present undercurrent of ignorance, racism and just plain old fashioned hate that is present in our society. This negative undercurrent has been encouraged and is rapidly being “normalized” making it more important than ever for the rest of us to speak our truth. I have grown tired of the internet trolls and alt right political activists inciting hate toward the most vulnerable in our world, refugees of war and immigrants. It’s time to share the truth about what these people have contributed to this country…and it’s not terrorism.  It’s also not bloated welfare rolls or burdens on the Employment Insurance system…despite what some viral emails and Facebook posts may proclaim.

I was at a funeral last week for a good man, he was a business owner, a tradesmen, a father, husband, grandfather, uncle or to some of us an “Onkel” and a very proud Canadian. BTW he was also an immigrant.  During the eulogy his daughter mentioned his arrival in Canada in the 1950’s and his intention of living the “Canadian experience”.  And for the next 60+ years he did just that. I was lucky enough to know this man; he was a big part of my youth.  He was my Dad’s oldest and best friend and his neighbour for many of those 60 years.

They shared much in common, they married strong German women. They both had immigrated from a war torn Germany, had seen far more human cruelty and horror than any young person should endure. Both came to this country to leave behind the horror and wreckage of war, to start again in a new land that promised opportunity and freedom.  

As many may know Berlin was bombed heavily by the allies. My mother as a youngster was evacuated from Berlin to be sheltered from the bombing; my great grandmother was detained by the Nazis for refusing to say Heil Hitler on the streets of Berlin.  My Father was just 16 as the war came to end and had just received his draft papers in the mail. My Grandfather put them back in the mailbox with “addressee unknown” to buy some time. He had already lost one son to the war.  My father had already been captured by the Russian army as a civilian and had escaped while being sent to Russia. He doesn’t like talking about this time, but has shared some bone chilling memories of hiding from Russian soldiers and watching while they torched a town, and witnessed many other atrocities of an invading army. Sights no 15 year old should see.

My father’s parents were from East Berlin, the Russian controlled post war sector that would be eventually be part of Communist East Germany.  My family chose to abandon the family home in the East in favour of living in the democratic west.  They experienced first-hand what it was like to have a city, a people, and a country divided by a wall. This wall stood for decades, separating families and a nation. 

My parents were married in January of 1957 and a few short weeks boarded a ship destined for Canada. Why did they leave? They left a country that had been physically decimated by war, demoralized and divided by the cold war.  Berlin was in the epicenter of the Cold War.  After a week+  at sea they landed at Pier 21 in Halifax.  From Halifax they travelled by train to Toronto. They had a few suitcases and perhaps a few hundred dollars…and great hope to start a new life in a country free of war.  They also arrived in a country that 12 years before had been at war with Germany, but still Canada opened its’ doors to Germans to emigrate. In fact the Canadian gov’t recruited Germans, as they had the foresight to know that the German people were hard working, educated and skilled labourers.  A young country like Canada needed a workforce to grow to its potential. A people that a dozen years before had been the enemy were now being welcomed to come…and stay. My parents came and stayed. They found work, became Canadian citizens, never missed an election, started a business. It’s been 60 years now and the family has grown. They had 2 children and now have 4 grandchildren, and will soon have a great grandchild.

I am one of those children. Born in Scarborough but raised in small town Ontario.  My parents decided to leave Toronto in 1969, opting for country life in Haliburton.  Two families that had become friends in Toronto, both with similar stories moved to Haliburton together and were the only immigrants of German decent to choose to live in Haliburton.  And in true Canadian fashion they were accepted and in due course they too became ‘locals’. 

I don’t want to imply that this story is all sunshine and lollipops. Of course there were bumps on the road. Difficult economic times, feelings of not belonging are part of the story. But with perseverance the negative experiences were overcome.  At times we pretend that Canada is free of prejudice and hate, that everyone here gets treated fairly with equal opportunities. That of course is not true. We have our blemishes and faults.  I know that the kids of Syrian refugees will be subjected to racist and ignorant comments from their peers and may experience it as adults as well. We have work to do here…  I grew up in the 1970’s and 80’s and there were times on the playground that I was called a “Nazi” or “the enemy” and I know these comments didn’t originate with the kids, but with what they overheard at the dinner table. Kids are not born hating, it’s learned.  Fortunately in my case those comments were not the norm and I grew up feeling like I belonged here. I also had the “advantage’ of being white and of Christian descent so could blend in more easily.

So what did I hear at our dinner table as a kid?  There was and is plenty of political talk. I was told of the dangers of extreme Nationalism. I was told that the complacency of the electorate could lead to nasty consequences. I was told that war was a horrifying experience and that perhaps if politicians had to go to the front lines perhaps they would find ways to work out differences peacefully. I was told that isolationism lead to ignorance and intolerance, and that a free and accessible education system was the ticket for the lower classes to succeed. I was told not to accept things at face value and to look a little deeper for facts and then make up my own mind.  All those lessons have served me well, and I hope to pass them on to my kids. And I will teach my kids to be proud that their Grandparents were immigrants.

So once again I ask, let’s put the hate to bed. Get to know your neighbours no matter what their colour, race or religion might be. Put out your hand in friendship. They will value your friendship while they’re working hard… so their kids have it better than they did…

The Road to Adoption Part 2!

Dec 31^st was the 2^nd anniversary of my daughter’s arrival. It was about a year ago I wrote about our journey to get our daughter.   http://www.babypost.com/parents/parenting/our-road-adoption  In December we will mark 2 years since we were blessed with the arrival of a 10 month baby girl, yes the same one that today is the tricycle dare devil and queen of the question “Why?”

 Now with 2 years under our belt, with an adopted child in our midst am I an expert on Adoption? Not in the least…I can only share our journey with you. Our first child was born 8 years ago, and was placed into my arms at the old Women’s College Hospital moments after he was born. We had 9 months to prepare for his arrival.  Of course that experience was very different than getting a phone call from our Children’s Aid worker with the remark. “We have a match!”  But in both cases the emotions were powerful. Simultaneously there was anticipation, joy and fear.  The sense of powerlessness over all the unknowns was at times a little overwhelming.   When you have a child born to you, the only information you have leading up to the birth is from the few medical tests during the pregnancy.  When you are about to adopt you sit down with multiple people from Children’s Aid and they share as much medical history as they can find about the child, and the child’s parents.  Suddenly this becomes a decision not only of the heart but of the mind.  In our case we also had a young son to consider in the equation.  Our case worker was very cautious about showing us a picture of the child, as she felt once a photo was seen by us, we would definitely be swayed more by the heart than the mind.   As we sat in that first “discovery meeting” it was rather surreal to be discussing a child in this manner. In hindsight I wonder if any information would have changed our minds…I am pretty sure we were “all in” before we entered the room.

I suppose every parents experience with adoption is as unique as each child. I can only speak from my experience that our entry into becoming Adoptive parents was pretty magical. It was a classic case of hurry up and wait.  After about 4 years of paperwork and interviews we had begun to give up hope that the process would work.  But finally a single phone call launched a 3 week whirlwind of activity. And of course an emotional roller coaster ride.  Circumstances dictated that we would have to move quickly. Within 3 weeks we went from reviewing a file to this little girl coming home for keeps.

Our little girl was extremely blessed to have had a wonderful foster mother that was her care giver from almost the beginning of her life.  She is an amazing lady who we are lucky enough to have as a friend to this day.  We met our daughter for the first time in this ladies home.  I had forgotten what it was like to hold a 10 month old baby. But the instincts soon returned.  Our next meeting a day or 2 later included our son. I remember the moment we told him that a sister had been found. He lit up like a billboard and jumped up and down in glee.  We had wondered how our 6 year old would react to meeting his new sister. From day one this little girl has brought out the best in him, you won’t find a prouder big brother. It all went remarkably easy. If you don’t count the mad rush to turn a “spare room” into a nursery and meet the entire Children’s Aid regulations.   All this in the midst of holding down jobs and preparing for Christmas, because we got the call in mid- December!

We went from a few short visits to the Foster parents home, to visits in our home, than unsupervised all day visits, to an overnight visit and then voila…she came home for good, all in the span of 3 weeks.  Our experience with Children’s Aid at this part of our journey was quite positive.  Some of the safety regulations seemed ridiculous but we complied…this was a very small price to pay.  It is rather ironic that we had been able to keep our son alive for 6 years with no major calamities but now we were required to bolt all our furniture to the walls and move all our cleaning supplies from a locked kitchen cabinet to an unlocked room in the basement.  On many of these tedious details the CAS was very rigorous, but after our initial meetings with our daughter they really stepped back and let us be a family with minimal contact. From when our daughter arrived to stay, it was just over a year before we got the final court order that she was legally our daughter. Until that time she was technically still in the custody of the Children’s Aid Society.  What this meant was that once a month we were paid a scheduled visit by our Children’s Aid case worker.  Perhaps we were lucky, but our worker was a veteran that clearly is in the right profession. She demonstrated the optimum balance between professional and personal advice. Always supportive, never judgemental, the visits were informative and informal and we weren’t made to feel like we were being “policed”.  In our case, our worker is also our neighbour…living a block away. So we still meet in the grocery store and at the bakery.  

Anytime a child arrives it marks major changes in the family, and of course an adopted child is no exception.  We were concerned about what impact this would have on our son. He had been the center of our universe for 6 years and was the golden grandchild. However he had desperately wanted a sibling, and perhaps helped speed the process when he bluntly told our case worker a few years into the process that … “this is taking a REALLY long time!” She was kind of taken aback by his emotion and I saw a tear in the corner of her eye. 

  His adjustment to a new sister went far better than expected.  He handled the excitement and a whirlwind 3 week period quite well.  He did have a few bumps at school in the following months, mostly with a bit of attention seeking behaviour, but it was short lived.  From day one the 2 have been pretty much inseparable.  Even the foster mother and our case worker remarked that the bond between the 2 seemed almost immediate.  From the first visit she wanted to be with him and crawled over to play with him, and it’s been that way ever since. Despite an almost 6 year age gap, whatever he does…she also wants to do.  Whether it’s jumping off the diving board into the pool or playing soccer, she is only a few steps behind.

Another major change for this Dad was the decision to take the parental leave, to be a “stay at home dad.” I give my employer credit for handling this with grace. While he had been aware of our quest for adoption he had only a few weeks warning that I would be gone for 10 months.  I have written extensively about this journey on this site, and it indeed was a life changing time.  As trying as the process can be, I can now say that I have no regrets and cannot imagine my daughter not being here. She is no less my child than my son. Both are absolutes in my heart…no matter how frustrating they can be on a particular day when they won’t eat dinner or brush their teeth.

I went to an after school “beatbox” event with my son.  By this time he had become a veteran big brother.  During the show the kids were asked questions and at one point they were asked to raise their hands if they had a younger sibling. My son’s arm shot up like a rocket, and he turned to find me in the audience to make eye contact. We did…and that beaming smile said it all. As we learned in our adoption parenting sessions “families are formed in many different ways”.  In the end it’s not the how or the why that matters…simply, we are family.