My Canadian Grandchildren
Although there’s not much I can do about it, I’m grateful for my personal heritage, tough East London scrappers on my father’s side, proud and fierce Welsh, the indigenous people of Britain, on my mother’s side.
But then I married, had children, and they married and had children.
I married into a typical Canadian family, the Docksteaders, with roots in Germany, England, Scotland and Ireland, and maybe France. With also a very real probability of some Mohawk ancestry along the way, the Doxtaters. That’s the way we are in this country.
And then Karen and I had kids, and they grew up, and found their mates, and had children of their own.
Two of our girls married Gagnons, curious enough until you understand that Gagnon in French Canada is like Smith in England or Jones in Wales. It’s entirely possible that to find their common ancestor you have to go all the way back to the parents of brothers Mathurin, Jean, and Pierre who came over on the same boat almost four hundred years ago.
And at that, one of our “sons by marriage” also takes pride in First Nations ancestry on his mother’s side, with the interesting result of one of our “native status” grand-daughters having blue eyes, blonde hair, and a “peaches and cream” complexion while her sister enjoys a mass of dark curls and fierce dark eyes. Anishinaabe or Welsh? Probably both.
Another pair of grandkids rejoice in all that Karen and I contributed to their gene pool, but also that their Dad is a proud blend of Cape Breton and Nova Scotia Black.
Not only that, but their mother’s new husband offers her kids insights into a hearty blend of Pictou County and the Innuit-Labrador melting pot of the northern coast. What a proud and energetic heritage and cultural mix they are!
My son had the good sense to marry an engineer, a lovely, practical, sensible, and caring girl who gave us two young delights, destined to change the world. From her heritage of pragmatic English on one side, and tough Saskatchewan Ukrainian on the other, those grandkids bring a further mix of heritage, from the durable English to the courage of Ukrainian warriors, tapestry and pysanky eggs.
Schooled in French immersion, our grandkids are the future of Canada, taking forward a dozen heritages, citizens of the world yet fiercely proud of this place which brought us all together, refugees, immigrants, dreamers, strivers, doers.
In a harsh landscape where we had to accept the fact that our neighbours didn’t look or sound like us, yet we needed each other to survive, we’ve created a proud society and strong land where we show the world what humanity can do and be.
Canada strong!
(To be sure, this isn’t just true of Canada. I recognize my South African readers whose country recognizes eleven official languages, my New Zealand readers with their evolving but sincere embrace of two founding peoples, and friends in England and Wales who are working to ensure the survival of yr hen iaith (the old language). And many more – you tell me!)