Parked at the Buffalo Niagra Airport longterm parking lot, John waited for the shuttle to arrive and take his family to the Delta Airlines counter. The cold, chill, air of early spring ran though his light -sport jacket, John shivered. He didn’t mind the little cold, just for another hour or so, because the family would be in the tropical weather of Florida.
The blue shuttle bus stopped in front of the waiting area, John hurried on board, with Lana, his wife, and little Colin tagged behind him. It was Wednesday morning, regular workweek, not a lot of people were traveling, the bus was almost empty. Seating across from the family was the only other passenger, a man in his early fifty, thin hair, unkempt beard, and a spare tired hanging around his waist. Out of polite, John smiled a hello. The man smiled in return, all the while looking at Lana and her son.
“Where are you from?” The stranger sitting across asked.
“We are from Toronto.” John answered, thinking that somehow the stranger knew the family was from Canada, and to save cost have drove 90 miles to fly to Florida. Confused, the man quiet for about a minute.
“Where exactly do you come from?” Asked the man, emphasized on the word exactly.
The question threw John a curve ball. When John immigrated to Canada with his family when he was one year of age, he had considered the maple leaf to be his native land, hockey was his national sport and a double-double was his choice of beverage. After 36 years in Canada, never had anyone asked John such a question, but this man, this supposed American somehow thought John belong somewhere else entirely.
“Vietnam” John replied, thinking that maybe the answer the man wanted.
“Well…welcome to America.” The stranger continued, “and welcome to Canada”
The bus stop and the man got off, but he had left an unsettling notion in John’s mind. Why would I need to be welcoming to Canada? I’m a Canadian. Just because my skin looks different, I don’t belong there? John pondered.
“Daddy, is that where we from?” Colin interrupted, “are we Vietnamese?”
Looking into the tender eyes of his 5 years old son, John smiled, “No, We’re Canadian.”
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