A is for “America”
By Phyllis Knox
This blog is part of a very special series created and written by Phyllis Knox, “Alphabetic Musings”, whereby she chooses a word starting with a particular letter from the alphabet and injects it with her storytelling magic.
LET’S START WITH the dictionary:
A, a(er) as in A.M. or a(aw) as in allowed or a (ah) as in attention. First letter of the alphabet. Expressions 1. to know someone or something from A to Z…as in ‘completely’ 2. to NOT know … A from B…as not knowing at all or not being able to distinguish differences.
Pronunciation: America…a mare ree ka American…a mare ree ken
So it is that I have decided to start my blog with the letter “A” and (if I can), then go through the alphabet from A to Z (ed) twice for a total of 52 weeks.
The word “America” feels like a good choice so, that is how and where I will start my path through my love of words!
As a child living in Quebec, I took Geography classes from grades 1 through 12 (my first three years were at a ‘French’ school called St. Jean de Brebeuf and the next four primary years and four years of high school were at St. Patrick’s High School in Three Rivers). The marvellous books we were given to work with & from, showed continents, countries, and oceans in beautiful colours on their pages. There were many roll-down maps on all four walls which the teachers would use to point (with a three-foot-long ruler) out different locations and places throughout the world. My enthusiasm had no limits as I dreamed of travelling to or living in exotic places. Yet, nothing compared to the continent which I inhabited… North America. I let my imagination go as it took me ‘from Sea to Shining Sea”, to the Canadian Rockies, to the Northernmost reaches of the Arctic Circle and across the ten Canadian provinces (at that time Newfoundland had joined Confederation just 10 years earlier in 1949). Canada was not yet a hundred years old! I graduated from high school in 1966, the year before Canada’s 100th birthday……Confederation! And, what a year of celebration that was.
It was all so new, so fresh and so enticing for a child who had by then, become a teenager…The world was ‘my oyster’, I thought.
I studied the flowers and the birds and the animals which represented each province and territory and was shocked to find that a big rodent with yellowed buck teeth - the beaver! - had been chosen to represent us, as the hard-working Canadians we are. Oh well, EH?!
“I am also American” or at least I thought I was.
As the 1950’s progressed into the 1960’s, I became increasingly and acutely aware of my surroundings. My parents would pile as many of their seven kids as possible into our small Ford car (seat belts were NOT an option, while air conditioning was a thing of the future) but, as we grew, fewer children were taken on these ‘expeditions’ (because of restraints in the amount of space needed per growing child).
We children endured our father’s constant smoking - huge Cuban cigars, no less, and our mother’s chain smoking of Cameo cigarettes. We would have to stop along the highways and byways to catch our breaths as we each turned strange hues and tones of grey and our eyes felt a burning sensation as they teared up from the smoke…(and might I add the pushing and shoving and complaining and fighting that played out as we cried out, “Are we there yet?”…...I added these human reactions to stress just to complete the painful picture for you!)
We took day trips and weekend excursions to Shawinigan, La Tuque, Quebec City, Sherbrooke and Montreal. During summer vacations, we travelled (all the way) to the Ottawa Valley and westward to Toronto. When the weather (and finances) permitted it, we drove down to the ‘States’: Maine, Vermont, New York and New Jersey were our favourite destinations. We ate in restaurants off the beaten paths, visited museums, swam in the rivers, stayed at 1-star motels and bought ‘stuff’ in huge outlet stores which one day would become our Canadian way of shopping too!
Around that time, I found out that I was NOT American. I knew that I was Canadian - a person living in Canada with a birth certificate proving that I was born in Canada, but I also lived on the North American continent. Was I not American, then? Apparently NOT. The United States had scooped up the words ‘of America’ as their own. They now owned the word AMERICA. What? How did that happen, EH? People living on the European Continent, are called Europeans. Anyway, just like 33 million other Canadians who are not Americans, I will let it go and say, “Sorry” for bringing it up, EH!
As expected, we Canadians let it go and we never even think about it nor have we fought it……..It just is, what it is!
I now see myself as a Canadian living in the best province as an English-speaking Quebecer adopted by, adapted to, and happily and gratefully accepted into French-speaking and French-Canadian/Quebec Society (Québécois) while living on the North AMERICAN Continent. And, that’s good enough for me!
Bye from America …North America, that is! - Phyllis (Fill’-ess)
