Living with Americans

I just returned from a visit to San Diego. I live just outside of Toronto now, but spent three years in San Diego in the mid nineties.

When I left Canada, I didn't see myself coming back. Ontario's economy had been decimated by years of NDP rule, and federally, taxes were increasing, big government was back, Quebec was threatening to separate. I didn't see myself ever getting ahead in Ontario. In Canada. I loved my country, but wasn't sure anymore that it was a place I could grow. Achieve.

Aside from the obvious climate and lifestyle changes, I didn’t expect life would be that different culturally in California from what I had experienced growing up in Canada. I’ve lived next to Americans in border cities all my life, and they didn’t seem much different than me.

Now that I’ve lived there, however, I know better.

Life is faster in the US - so much happens so quickly and intensely. I had priceless experiences during my time there. Some changed the way I see the world, others were entertaining - and none would have happened had I stayed in Canada.

I’ve experienced the ravages of El Nino, floods, massive brush fires, two earthquakes and mud slides. I’ve golfed with Presidents and dined with NFL Hall of Fame quarterbacks. I’ve seen foot-long lizards perched in front of my refrigerator and glimpsed bald eagles in the wild, perched on trees, regal and beautiful in their freedom.

I’ve played beach volleyball by the Pacific Ocean and watched American FA -18s and stealth bombers fly patterns over my apartment. I’ve watched dolphins play in their natural habitat off the coast of La Jolla and have hopped a plane to San Francisco on a Friday to see that night’s showing of Phantom of the Opera. I’ve driven alone across 32 states and seen first hand their individual beauty. I’ve lived the fast paced life of an American, and have grown stronger through surviving it.

Americans not only experience life on a more frenzied level than Canadians, they are also far less reserved.

Americans strike up conversations with strangers everywhere - in grocery lines, bank lines, on planes, in airports, at the gym, at the park. Sometimes I found this outwardly friendly behaviour refreshing. Other times, my Canadian reserve kicked in and I wished they would give me my space - just for a while!

Americans make friendships more quickly, but many of these friendships exist on a more shallow level. In Canada, it takes longer to form a friendship – but, once formed, the relationship is deeper.

If you make social plans with a Californian, you can expect those plans to be tentative. Your companion may call or show up as scheduled, but if something else comes up, their plans will likely change, and you may not even be informed that you are no longer a part of them.

Driving on American interstates, at least in California, is insane. Speeds, in spite of radar checks, run the equivalent of 140 km/ph in the middle lane. If you are driving 110 km/ph, you’re in the slow lane. Leaving space between you and the car in front of you is futile. Someone always cuts in. You learn to drive defensively, and to drive by the seat of your pants. And you learn, if you want to live, to keep your temper in tow when you drive. Angry motorists with guns in their cars are no myth.

Americans say “hey” alot instead of “hi”. They say “sawry” instead of “sorry” and “uh” instead of “eh”. When they attempt to mimic the quintessential Canadian “eh”, it sounds pitifully forced and rather humourous (note: spelled with a “u”)

If you think holidays are commercial in Canada, you haven’t seen anything. Imagine flashing, twinkling white lights everywhere – orange for Halloween, pastels for Easter, red and white for Valentine’s Day, multiple colours for Christmas. Chasing lights that spell seasonal words on external house walls. Some homes are tastefully decorated, but the majority are fine examples of hideous commercialism. Some Americans decorate for every conceivable holiday – even for Valentine’s Day.

Americans like guns. Most are intent on defending their right to bear arms, arguing that it is the only way to ensure personal freedom and safety, not realizing that people in societies where guns are not so readily available also manage to maintain their freedom. With fewer guns available, their need to protect themselves against the guns of others would diminish. But they don’t see that. They don’t see that this right, instituted 250 years ago, was intended to protect a new country against its enemies during vastly different times, not to kill over 80,000 of its own citizens annually. They don’t see that by enabling private citizens to own personal firearms and assault weapons, they are helping to destroy their own people, rather than protecting them and their freedom. Americans do not understand that a free society can survive without arming private citizens with weapons. They don’t see that it is as much about attitude as it is about gun control.

The average American knows almost nothing about Canada. When I told one American I was from Toronto, he asked if I had ever seen a Polar Bear. In jest, I told him I had. He asked if it was dangerous. I said no, that we carry packs of seal meat and, if the bears appear to be aggressive, we throw seal meat. That eliminates the danger.

He believed me.

American’s don’t care about our culture.

Don’t get me wrong - it’s not that they have no respect for it. They just don’t think about it, don’t pay attention to it – don’t know about it.

As one American put it, “What culture?”

Many of them barely know we exist – and the majority certainly has no desire nor intent to assimilate our culture. It’s almost funny to see the extent to which we protect our culture from a non-existent enemy. There must be more constructive ways to strengthen our national culture and communicate that culture to others.

Some of the richest people I met in the US were also the most uncultured and classless. Americans don’t seem to realize that true class isn’t about money. They don’t respect the beauty of the English language, the proper and careful use of the language. They don’t see the importance of manners and civility, of holding back once in awhile, of silent power. Of manners. A few of my American friends actually laughed at my tendency to say please and thank you so often.

We’re not perfect in Canada, but we are miles ahead of our American neighbours – hopefully we won’t let that gentle and thoughtful aspect of our culture slip as we raise new generations of children.

When you emigrate to America, you go to become American. Immigrants don’t go there to change American laws and cultures to suit theirs. They would never allow it. I never felt it was my right to change their culture to fit mine. The United States, as a whole, maintains a steadfast spirit of independence of which immigrants and minorities are a key component. As a foreign resident in the US, I would never have been expected to forfeit my past, my history, my roots, my pride in my heritage. I displayed my individuality freely - as part of a larger unit.

Americans are patriots. Whether they love or hate their country, their feelings are passionate, their pride is great. Even those who rock the boat, who perform questionable acts in order to challenge their government, believe they are acting for the good of their country.

When I saw the daily FA-18 flyovers at my home by Miramar Naval Air Station, I felt something tremendous. Pride in a country that isn’t even mine, safety in the superiority of its military might, fear that this protection might actually be necessary, excitement in the sheer beauty of those planes. I’ve never felt that in Canada, nor would I expect to. It wouldn’t seem right. But it seems right in the US, a country that fought for its independence. They didn’t negotiate it. They won it through sheer will and determination. I believe that gives them something Canadians will never have - nor ever want.

When I met President George Bush, I was in awe. I am not in awe often. It didn’t hit right away. It was later, while the President, his Secret Service agents and me were in a corner of the conference room, hidden behind a barrier, watching an introduction video highlighting his life, waiting for his moment to hit the stage. We made small talk about my boyfriend. He asked what his intentions were. We laughed. I thought, just like a grandfather!

At that moment, the screen showed a lone man, standing in front of millions, one hand raised, one hand on the Bible, being sworn in as President of the United States of America.

I realized that man was standing next to me, asking about my boyfriend’s intentions. My knees became weak. That would not have happened with a Canadian Prime Minister

Why not? I don’t have the answer.

It’s different.

It’s America.

When my work visa expired, I was ready to come home. It’s funny that my identity as a Canadian, nonexistent when I left, formed while I lived in San Diego.

I discovered that I like saying “eh”. It’s very British.

I don’t like guns, and I never will. I like having class in spite of not having money. I like being somewhat reserved. I like judging a person by their soul, not their skin colour. I like wearing a poppy in November, and I am proud of my British roots and my country’s ties to the monarchy. And even though our Canadian tendency toward debate drives me insane, I prefer the peaceful, reserved culture I was born into to the violent, revolutionary culture of the United States

I like living in a city that knowledgeable Americans call the Switzerland of the North, and love the European flavour and culture of Canada and the subtlety of a somewhat European population.

I’m grateful for a healthcare system that, though imperfect, assures me that I will never be denied healthcare or bankrupted by my need for it.

Canadians need to become more nationalistic. I wish every Canadian could feel the pride I feel when I say I am Canadian. I wish every Canadian could know how we are perceived by the world, know what a proud reputation we have internationally – and know how much that reputation and lifestyle depend upon their continuing contribution to it.