Welcome to Canada

It is not unusual—in fact, it is more than likely—that we will see families from three different continents come through Safetynet on any given day. Each family brings with them unique life experiences, cultural traditions, religious beliefs, and personal histories.

What they share, however, is something much more powerful: hope. An optimism that the new country that has welcomed them will provide a fresh beginning—a sense of relief and opportunity after the challenges they have left behind in their homeland. I suppose it was the same for my family when they came to Canada from Ireland.

It is easy for me to get lost in the whirlwind of people coming and going — whether it is someone dropping off clothing, the phone ringing, a mother waiting to receive diapers for her impatient infant, or a family waiting to be checked out.

But every now and then, a family will pull me away from the daily chaos and the routine responses I often find myself giving while trying to stay focused on the task at hand. In those moments, I am reminded to slow down and truly see the people standing in front of me.

And so it was on this particular day that a family, while being checked out, caught my attention. They were from a part of the world that had been decimated by war and conflict — a country where its people were landlocked, trapped by circumstances beyond their control, and unable to simply leave. They were being assisted by one of our interpreters, who was engaging them in conversation.

There was a young girl in the family who was just tall enough for her chin to rise above our service desk. She was rubbing her chin along the wooden edge of the counter, seemingly unaware of the conversation taking place between her parents and the interpreter. Her eyes seemed fixed somewhere far away from where she stood. There was a familiar innocence in her expression — the kind of innocence children carry. Yet, I could sense that this innocence had already been shaped by experiences that no child should have to endure. Had she remained in her homeland much longer, that innocence may have been taken from her.

I said hello to her, and she answered back in English.

“Hi!”

She spoke English.

“How do you like Canada?” I asked.

“I like Canada!” she responded.

Now, I have been particularly frustrated by the cool, grey spring we have been having.  Caught up in my own small frustrations, I said to the girl as her family was making their way toward the door:

“Don’t you find it cold here?”

She turned and replied, “A little bit.”

I then asked, raising my voice slightly to reach her as she moved farther away:

“Well, what do you like about Canada?”

She stopped, turned around, and looked back at me.

“Here we are free… We are safe.”

Now, I do love my country, but I have never considered myself overly patriotic. I have always struggled to understand those who become consumed by displays of patriotism. To me, chanting your country’s name at sporting events or watching military jets fly over stadiums can sometimes feel like an extension of an inflated national pride, and history has shown that this does not always lead to positive outcomes.

But standing there in that moment, listening to a young girl who had come from a place of fear and uncertainty, I saw Canada through a different lens. For her, Canada was not about flags, ceremonies, or displays of pride.

Canada was freedom.

Canada was safety.

And sometimes, it takes the perspective of someone who has lost those things to remind us how much they truly matter.

I felt an emotional lump rise in my throat. Like the Grinch in his moment of revelation about Christmas, I suddenly understood something about Canada that I had always known, but perhaps had never truly felt.

I looked at her and, barely able to get the words out, I said:

“Welcome to Canada.”

And to my country — a place that, at its best, represents freedom, understanding, and compassion —

Happy Birthday.