He'll Always Be My Canadian.

Last week was....bizarre. In fact, this entire month has kind of been strange. I don't know if it's the transition from Christmas vacation back to work and school or the dreary days of snow or maybe the general feeling of malaise that my job carries during this season of tax preparation and insurance renewals, but something is just off, for lack of a better word.

Add to that the crowning glory of bizarre as I watched the world's most proud Canadian take an oath to my country, the United States of America, last Thursday. This was a decision years in the making that has brought tears, arguments, jokes, and laughter to both Jesse and I. During the application process, we decided to keep it just between the two of us. As Thursday approached, we reached the point where we realized it was probably appropriate to tell people before it happened rather than after.

Most people replied with "congratulations!" and I smiled politely at them and said thanks, not really wanting to get deeper into all the issues that go along with it.

For me, in some ways, I felt deeply sad that in order to become an "American", one is asked to "absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen." This is required, whether one has dual citizenship or not.

I guess I understand the reasoning somewhat, but it's still a hard pill to swallow. No matter where a person comes from, no matter how great or how war-torn or how equal or how unfair a country is, the places we are born and the places we live growing up are entrenched in our souls. We are shaped by our society whether or not we want to be. To "renounce" that, regardless of whether one was shaped for the better or for the worse, seems like denying a part of one's identity. I am sure this section of the oath will have different meaning to different people. For me, as an American, I feel some desire to put a disclaimer on it.

My ambivalent feeling wasn't helped along much when during the check in process, an older Iraqi woman turned in her papers, and the lady checking her in started questioning her about her marriage. The woman spoke little to no English, but through a translator explained that she was a widow. A few minutes of chatter about this, and then the check-in lady says something about her not signing that she is willing to bear arms. "Are you willing to bear arms?"..."You must sign that you are willing to bear arms."..."You have to bear arms." The woman clearly didn't understand and though I know it's a formality that must be addressed, it was in all ways, a ridiculous scene.

Anyway, everyone got checked in and then they took all the people to be sworn in up to the courtroom while the rest of us waited downstairs. I guess during this time, they were seating them in a certain order and explaining to them what would be asked of them during the ceremony. After a good half hour or so passed, they came back to fetch the rest of us and we all crammed into elevators to go up to the courtroom.

I realized once we were in, this was my first time at a court hearing. We did the "all rise" thing, the judge came in, someone presented the applicants, then motioned for the court to grant them citizenship as petitioned. The judge accepted and then launched into a speech. He started off with the typical hoo-rah that I expected. America is wonderful, a great country, all that stuff. Then, he paused and said something to the effect of "Now, I must take a minute to address the places from which you all came." (There were about 60 being sworn in, from places as diverse as Pakistan to England to Mexico to Bosnia.) When he said that, I think I braced my heart a bit for what was about to come next, unsure of his stance and what he was going to say.

What followed was not only a relief, but actually made me tear up a bit. In essence, he spoke of the importance of remembering one's history, of telling stories to your children of the places you grew up, of never forgetting your roots. I was overcome with thankfulness to hear him acknowledge the individuals' history and the sacrifices that people were making in order to take this oath. It was to me, the most beautiful part of the ceremony. I hope that, if Jesse and I ever do finally get around to having children, they will grow up having fond memories of both Canada and America.

I hope they will experience the beauty of the Canadian Rockies, know what a toque is, and grow an appreciation for a cold Molsen. I hope they play with sparklers on the 4th of July, sing the Star Spangled Banner, and learn their lesson if they don't run away from a lit firecracker fast enough. I hope they feel unsure of who to root for during the Olympics. I hope they never fall into believing the stereotype that Americans are self-absorbed and politically ignorant or that Canadians live in igloos and say "aboot". I hope they are proud of their father and the land he grew up in and I hope they feel a sense of ownership over it, too. And I hope they breathe in America, loving her for all her potential - even that which goes unmet. I hope, above all this, that they manage to rise above political boundaries and see people first and foremost as human beings just like themselves; people who are capable of feeling pain and love; people who choose to accept or reject.