October 7, 1972, on BOAC airlines we landed at Pearson International Airport, and Pierre Elliott Trudeau was the Prime Minister. We were excited and scared. We stood out and we knew we were different.
We were part of the Jamaican/English/Caribbean minority who were coming to Canada, and for some reason people felt it very necessary to point it out to us. We spoke different – our cockney accent was a give away that we from the Queen’s country (haha).
Yet we were children. We felt the love and protection of our parents, and as children, we laughed, played and got used to calling what we knew as “chips” – “french fries.” Cheese looked like a piece of rubber wrapped in a thin clear plastic compared to the hard cheese Mom bought at the market. Friday night fish and chips were not as easy to find, but we quickly located it by the KFC at Victoria Park and Van Horne in Scarborough.
All around we adjusted to our new life in Canada. Our new “home.” So it has been for 47 years. On October 7, my father would have celebrated 86 years of age….and while I miss him so very much, I think his head would have been swimming with all the changes. For one thing, he would say every other person walking down the street is a little crazy because their lips are moving, but there is no one directly beside them. They have little white prongs sitting in their ears and no one beside them. We would have had to explain to him that they are wearing earphones and they are connected to their phones. As his children, we would have been rolling in laughter. My father didn’t have a problem calling things exactly as he saw things. You could take him out of Jamaica but not Jamaica out of him!
My dad was a good father. I’ve said it before, we all have our issues, but we knew he loved us. He made us a cup of tea in the mornings and left bowls of porridge out for us to have before we went to school. It was a time of transition for us, and I understand the challenge many have today when they come to Canada. Although I still think it was harder for us when we first came. Some may argue this, but in 1972 Canada was just getting used to seeing people of colour. First Nations people were always here so you would hope this would have paved the way but, yeah, definitely not so. We went to school, and people stared at us as if to ask if we were staying. My husband recalls being called a “spear-chucker” when he came. People can be mean.
Then there was the change in the weather. We knew rain. We didn’t know snow that was knee-deep!! Food was somewhat different – more processed than we cared for. With the different names, driving on another side of the road and meeting new people and a new way of life we made it work, we adapted, and we settled.
Transition for anyone is challenging. So be patient with yourself and take one day at a time. Over the years, we have watched other people come and settle in. Regardless of the opportunities and changes in the system that have made it somewhat easier for them in comparison, it doesn’t change the whole idea of moving from comfort to challenge.
You may be transitioning in another way. Maybe your health has challenged you so that you have to do things differently. Maybe a new baby or a change in your loved one’s health. Take it one day at a time. Cry, Pray, Journal. Talk to a friend but be patient with yourself and know that this time of transition, though painful, will build qualities and character you did not have before.
Transition allows us to see our strengths and manage our weaknesses. Face the transition and just keep moving!
Blessings!
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