No matter what nation or state or place you hail from, someone is bound to ask you at some point, where you came from, or what your family name is, or where are you going dressed like that?
As a Canadian, one thinks to oneself, I think this or that, about that or this. Names and identities are, apparently, important…even if you haven’t really settled into the one they gave you - the one on your school photo, passport or birth certificate.
You may have gazed fitfully out of your pram or bed as Mummy looked adoringly on you while cooing your new name.
Slowly, as you came to, attended school and saw the letters around the schoolroom, you slowly enunciated each one in turn, until you could form a word and that word was supposed to free you from the darkness.
Each day, kids everywhere either walked home for lunch or ate sandwiches made by their mums or dads, rejoining their families briefly, then returning to the school community to learn about how much we care about the families in our town.
I include several family photos from this area to help us view what diversity means and how we are all in this together ‘come hell or high water’ as my aunt used to say.
My family on the maternal side are the Boelle family of Namur, Belgium. You may remember Belgium is a border state and buffer? Hence my “Christian” name and Belgian roots. When I go to party in Penetang, I have no problems. I understand French.
Well, once differentiation begins, the red team and the blue team find themselves on the field and fighting. We were cheerleaders as we had joined the colours as well…heck, it was “our” team. Everyone else be damned.
That was on the playing field and, hopefully, we lose the partisanship after the game ends.
The Olympics come to mind.
If we make everything around us the other, then we have a tough time at any type of reconciliation, here, in Midland, Penetang, Ukraine, or anywhere else.
René Hackstetter, Feb 25, 2022.
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