Ohhhhh Canada

When I was in college it was not uncommon for my friends and roommates to discuss foreign citizenship.  One roommate was going to claim her Irish citizenship because her paternal grandparents were born there.  Another was going to claim Italian citizenship for a similar reason.  Of course I had a few friends that were born in other countries and therefore had all the rights to be a citizen of another country, but when the conversation turned to me I just smiled and let it pass, and thought of this story that has gone down in family lore.  

In the summer of 1988 my parents got the wandering bug.  This bug crops up every few years (and sometimes every few months) and then they pack up everything necessary for survival in the wilderness (i.e., their camping gear, even if they didn’t end up camping), load up their car and progeny (if there were any), and drive.  This particular trip followed all the previous parameters but this particular trip stands out because, a) they took my eldest brother's godparents and their young son, Nicky Boy, so that my brother, the giant, wouldn't be the only child underfoot, b) the destination was outside of the United States (i.e. they were traveling to Canada), and c) my Mother was seven and a half months pregnant.  I would also like to point out that this pregnancy was particularly stressful for her because she was expecting a girl and the last time she was pregnant with a girl they had lost the baby shortly after her birth.  And so they left, four adults, one RV, two not quite toddlers, and enough gear to make it to the Sahara desert and back.  Their trip was beautiful, camping up the coast, driving the mountain paths, and explaining to strangers that the albino child in my very hispanic Father's arms was indeed his and the Norwegian looking Nicky Boy, who did indeed belong to my Uncle.  Finally, after a week on the trail they made it to Canada.  My Father was ecstatic.  He was hoping to accomplish two of his life long dreams, seeing Canada and (hopefully) an aircraft carrier.  He was also hoping to see a Polar bear (to be fair he did realize that it would have to be in a zoo).  

Then they hit border patrol.  They had no trouble getting into Canada as border patrol only questioned where they were from and where they were going.  And they had a lovely time.  They didn’t stay in Canada long but they did see a lot, although my Mother was very confused by all the posters disparaging the loss of Wayne Gretzky to Los Angeles.  She made the mistake of asking who was Wayne Gretzky and was curtly informed that he was the Canadian Hockey player who had been transferred to Los Angeles Kings.  My poor, unworldly, Mother unwisely commented, "Oh, I didn't know we had a hockey team." One can imagine the result.   And then they tried to go home. 

For anyone who has run into border patrol officers on the Interstate 5, or the random ones on I-10, or somewhere else in the middle of nowhere, or if you have ever tried to leave the country you know the standard questions include, "Are you all citizens of the United States?"  This frequently asked question caught my parents by surprise on their journey back into the U.S., and unfortunately, my parents didn't lie.  Of course my Aunt, Uncle, cousin, Mother, and brother were all American Citizens.  However, my Father, a natural born Mexican who had traveled to the U.S. as a child with his mother and two older siblings on a bus seat between two Navy sailors, was not.  He still had his green card from when he was a child and had never updated the picture.   

Some of my relatives still suggest that the best way to smuggle a Mexican man over the U.S. borders is to send him up to Canada and pair him with a very pregnant Caucasian woman who claims he is her husband and the father of her children, and then try and sneak him over that border.  My parents do not find this joke funny- but that’s what the Canadian border patrol thought.  Although in there slight defense the border patrol were very polite, explaining that they really couldn't verify that the little boy on the green card was in fact my Father, and even if they could prove it was him how could they prove that he was supposed to be there now. 

My Mother is a very understanding woman, not prone to emotional outbursts, always seeing the bright side of things, and almost never gets angry. Apparently almost never happened that day because she lost it and I don't know what she did but suddenly the border patrol couldn't WAIT to get my Mother and her husband back into the United States.

She always smiles when she recalls this part of the story—about how the crazy pregnant woman got her way—and then she turns to me and pats me on the head as she says, "And that's the story of how you almost got away with citizenship in three countries: The United States, Mexico, and Canada."