Can You Get Deported Over The Alphabet?

I am an American in Canada.

In the two years I've lived here, I've learned that in Canada, almost anything goes.  You can walk into a courthouse and get married to anyone.  You can have a peaceful assembly protesting the criminalization of your drug of choice and get police escorts.  You can have any color skin, go to any church, speak any language, have any amount of money in your pocket and people will still treat you just about the same. 

The one thing you cannot be under almost any circumstances is an American.

We are thoroughly American, my family and I.  My sons were seven and nine when we moved here.  My husband was 34.  I was 32.  Assimilating us is going to be damn near impossible.  My daughter, however, was only onewhen we moved north, and since she's lived the majority of her life in Canada we can see some major differences between her and the rest of us.  And don't think we having been using her as our litmus test for how well the rest of us are Canadianizing ourselves.

There are major differences, obvious to anyone in a five mile radius.  She'll eat poutine; I still can't even look at it (or pronounce it).  She has, from the first time she went potty, referred to the bathroom as a washroom.  I can't yet, so I'm sticking to calling it "potty" in public for as long as I can.  She will NOT, under any circumstances, walk into anyone's house with her shoes on.  I oftentimes fall asleep at night with mine still on.  She screams and wails at me because she doesn't want to wear her toque, and I explain that little girls need to wear beanies or they'll catch cold.

There are smaller, less noticeable differences, too.  There are things that haven't even happened yet, but they surely will in time.  She will never have to stop what she's doing, find her keys, put on a coat and run out to the car to peek at the speedometer in order to figure out what X kms translate into in miles.  She will never have to own a whole tube of White Out dedicated solely to scribbling out ck and rewriting que.  She will know what the temperature is without needing all her fingers and a few toes to convert.  She will always know where to toss in a U, and she'll understand where one doesn't beloung.

She will say Eh?, not Huh.  She already does, and it's adorable.

I embrace my children's transformation into little Canucks.  The differences between Canada and the States are bigger than one would think, and I am glad they'll have the opportunity to see first-hand how varied the people of the world are in their lives.  I think that diversity is good for children, that it makes them more rounded, humble and understanding people.  I will do everything in my power to help them hold on to their American roots while they sprout their Canadian branches.

But I'll be damned if they are ever going to call it Zed.

Come on, it' doesn't even try to rhyme with V,  (Sing it with me...q-r-s...t-u-v....w-x-y-and-zed?)  No one, not one person, has ever satisfactorily explained to my WHY we have to call it Zed, either.  Zed is not a letter of the alphabet, it's a guy who's motorcycle was stolen by Bruce Willis half-way through Pulp Fiction.  It's the one thing that no American can ever successfully adapt to, because it's the alphabet.  It's sacred, like Genesis or original Tab.  It's part of our core essential beliefs: The sun will always rise in the east, Oscar will always be a grouch and the alphabet will stay the same.

So, yes, I will eat maple donuts even though I think it's just weird, I will practice my eh?'s in the mirror for hours each day, I will forget what a dollar bill looks like and every time I have to reveal that I'm a Yank, I'll follow it with an "....and I didn't vote for Bush!" because I like it here.  I love it here.  I want to stay here for a long, long time.  But I promise you with The Queen as my witness, the first time my kid gets marked down for saying Zee in school, I'm going Brooklyn on their butts.

This is an original Canada Moms Blog post by Mr Lady who can be found fighting for truth, justice and equal alphabets for all at Whiskey In My Sippy Cup.