Monthly Archives: May 2009

Life as an Immigrant


Until this last weekend, I hadn’t worked for pay since moving to Canada nearly two years ago. Before coming here I was a high school English teacher. I worked with at-risk and ELL (English language learners) kids primarily. The majority of my students were disengaged from the formal education process. A sizable portion had drug or other criminal issues to deal with and about a quarter of the girls were dealing with pregnancies or abusive home situations and, of course, there were the non-English speaking kids with their immigration ordeals.

I was always struck by the fact that I had colleagues who were all too eager to hand these “defectives” over to my program because they believed there was no hope, or never had been, for these teens who would become my kids. I never once ran across a student who didn’t have potential or couldn’t be at least partially plugged back in. But it was the immigrant students who impressed me the most, coming from distances which would have rendered my finicky co-workers bug-eyed with fear and overcoming language and cultural barriers which would have left those same adults curled up like fetuses.  They had learned so much already and most of it on their own. I admired them. I reminded them often that they were amazing and miles ahead of their American peers, most of whom couldn’t speak English properly, let alone a second language.
I was a typical American who had little sympathy for the plight of immigrants before I met them, but I didn’t gain a true understanding of the “lifestyle” until I became one of them.

The process for entering and gaining residence in a country not of your birth is a bit like navigating the social safety net programs set up in the United States. I have had more than my fair share of experience dealing with Medicaid, Social Security and Medicare, and I know first-hand that the initial barriers in any program run by the government are to discourage people early and often from continuing. It’s a cost-effective measure to keep the number of participants low.

Immigration was not dissimilar. It involved a mountain of paper from application forms to documentation, and followed a rule book that was written with a fuzzy sort of clarity that even those who worked in the immigration system were reluctant to interpret with certainty.

And it is a long process which can take a year or far longer depending on a person’s situation and their value as a contributor economically and socially. It was seven months before I was granted a work permit which I have used only once when I recently gave a workshop on blogging at our public library. It was ten months before I was officially “landed” which means I paid my final entrance fees, was instructed in my obligations as a permanent resident and handed the papers which allow me to live here and travel back and forth to the United States without fear of being denied re-admittance to my home.

Because Canada is my home now. It’s funny. I was reading Neil Gaiman’s blog recently, and he wrote about the slippery term “home”. Home is where one grows up and wherever one is currently living so that we are constantly in a state of returning home whether we are coming or going. That is what it means to be an immigrant too.

 

This is an original 50 Something Moms post by Ann Bibby 

Amazing Kid Tricks is Monday’s Meme


BabyD’s grade one teacher instructs all of his students in the art of cup-stacking. Really. Baby demonstrated her growing proficiency at the last parent teacher conference. She loves it so much that she wants Mr. S for her teacher again next year.

I think it’s dorky, but it’s a better way to bribe children than handing out candy like her ballet teacher does. I cannot stand that the professionals I entrust my child to often feed her crap as a way to maintain control. I myself abandoned the candy thing early in my teaching career. I just don’t see long term good in such practices. They don’t instill a sense of doing for the sake of improvement in a kid at all. And for the record, I don’t pay my child to do well in school. Money grades will never happen in our house.

But to get back to the cups, it is a real sport. Really. It is.

The current champion of the cup stacking world is eleven. He has an endorsement deal with McDonald’s and his own cult following. Dare to dream that for your middle-schooler.

BabyD prefers dance. Rob thinks this is far too punishing physically to be a realistic long term goal for her, and I agree though I wouldn’t try to stop her because it really doesn’t hurt one to have a passion and goals. Of course, Rob is speaking from the point of view of one who literally had his back bone knocked loose as a 14 year old pursuing a hockey dream.

My only sport dream as a child was baseball until I was informed that gender matters.

What sports-ish, or other, dreams did you harbor as a wee one?

doing that friday thing again


There is really not a lot going on. It’s Friday. I have a short story nearly ready to send out in order to catch the tail end of On Spec‘s current reading period before getting back to the novel.

Why the break for a short story? Well, first of all, the idea for this one finally fell together after months of banging around in my brain and two, I met with one of the On Spec editors at the conference a few weeks ago, and she asked if I had anything to send in based on the query letter I showed her for the novel. It’s nothing but net if I could get a short accepted before I head to Willamette to pitch the novel, and nothing is lost if I don’t.

I did finally get signed up for the August writers’ conference in Oregon. I have a pitching session with an agent even though I am treating it as a learning experience and if something comes of it  – bonus. Rob has booked off quite a bit of time around the conference, so we are going to camp and vacation on either side.

And no, he hasn’t heard on the job offer. He was supposed to meet with his immediate supervisor on Wednesday, but the boss called in sick and has been out the remainder of the week. 

Moving has been on my mind. I convinced Rob to finish the reno upstairs, painting the bedrooms, building a walk-in closet in our room and laying new hardwood floor. All things that were on the agenda, but the continued cool weather and the possibility we could be moving by summer’s end and thus having to sell, mean that this stuff needs to get done now. The outdoor projects need a bit warmer weather.

So the upstairs is all but empty. I had forgotten how much I love space. In my old house, I had almost no furniture. Drove visitors a bit batty, but I loved it. Near empty rooms with nothing on the walls is peaceful with possibility.

I got a letter from Will’s mom. The things we put on his grave last summer are gone. Don’t really know what to do with the information, and was a bit upset by her contacting me about it. I even wrote a long blog piece that I decided not to publish after talking with Rob about it. He pointed out that there is nothing that can be done about ties to the past and their intrusion into now on occasion, so there is no reason to work oneself up about it. It happens and you deal.

I will send her a “thanks” with some pictures of the child and leave it at that.

Ashtanga yoga is kicking the crap out of my old, neglected muscle groups. I also found a new Hatha instructor who is into strength building along with flexibility. End result is that I am very sore but better than yesterday.

What else? I am reading like a fiend. And that is about it. 

Sorry about neglecting the replies to comments. I am still not reconnected with the blogosphere so much and I am planning a summer hiatus, but I will let you know when that begins.

P.S. The pen name is settled. The site is constructed. I will launch at the end of summer.