Turns Out I Am Canadian. Who Knew?

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O Canada!
Our home and native land!
True patriot love in all of us command.
With glowing hearts we see thee rise,
The True North strong and free!
From far and wide,
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
God keep our land glorious and free!
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.

 

One of my earliest childhood memories is visiting the Eastern Township of Quebec, where my great-grandmother, a tiny woman we called MéMé, lived near Sherbrooke. MéMé spoke only French. Among the visiting cousins, the theory was that she knew English but refused to acknowledge it. This made communication difficult, since my French was limited to a few choice curse words one of my cousins taught me, like putain and merde. (You will have to look these up on your own.)

But we got by.

I recall visiting a relative’s small pig farm near Sherbrooke and gazing at pigs and milk cows. My brother Scott caused great amusement by accidentally touching a hot wire on a fence. I also met a great-uncle who is now called a little person. Uncle Alex ran a bike shop, mainly repairing used bicycles. I come from a long line of short people.

My maternal grandparents emigrated from Quebec in the 1920s, first to the Boston area and then to New Hampshire. Joseph Armand Adélard Bourque and Marie Catherine Hedwidge Provost had six children together. My mother was the second child and was born in Boston in 1930. By the time I arrived in 1955, both Grandpa and Grammy spoke fluent English with distinct French-Canadian accents, especially Grammy.

I am attached to my French-Canadian heritage with a dash or so of Mi’kmaq (or Micmac) Indian heritage. That helps explain my short, stocky stature and dark (for a white guy) skin. My Beautiful Mystery Companion and I visited the Eastern Township four years ago and took a one-day tour of many of the sites featured in the books of famed murder mystery writer Louis Penny throughout the area. It was a lovely visit.

 

I am very fond of Canada for many reasons and look forward to returning soon. Prime Minister Mark Carney is one of my favorite elected officials for standing up to President Orange Skin’s outrageous and absurd claims that Canada should be the 51^st state, by force if necessary. It would be helpful for POS to stop picking unnecessary fights, going to war, raising the price of just about everything in America, and spending billions of dollars — while obsessing over his gilded ballroom. Like many of us watching the nightmare of the past two POS terms, I have often found moving to Canada tempting, if unlikely.

My interest was piqued when Scott texted my little brother Gregg and me a link and an explanation. Last Dec. 15, the Canadian government passed Bill C-3, removing the so-called “first-generation” limit. Under that law, my late mother was also considered a Canadian citizen, even though she was born in Boston. But Canadian citizenship stopped with her. Now the law has changed. My brothers and I are now considered Canadian citizens from birth. O Canada!

There is a catch, of course. We must apply for a Citizenship Certificate to formalize this status. To do so, we must obtain one of our Canadian grandparents’ birth certificate or baptismal record, our mother’s birth certificate, and our own. There will be red tape involved. I am on the case.

As it turns out, I can’t even find my own birth certificate. I downloaded the form from the N.H. Secretary of State’s office. That one will come by snail mail. As for my mother’s and my grandparents’ records, I am doing considerable online sleuthing. My mother was born 92 years ago; my grandparents, in 1905 and 1907. (Yes, I’m old.) I have been burning up the email circuit, sending out inquiries, querying AI apps, trying to figure it out.

 

Finally, I signed up for a free trial subscription to Ancestry.com’s worldwide edition, which I plan to cancel before the two-week period ends. Within a few minutes, I found the digitized baptismal records for both of our maternal grandparents. Grammy Bourque was baptized on June 29, 1907, at the St-Magloire church in Bellechase, Quebec. Grampa Bourque was baptized at the Sr-Stanislas-Kostka church in Ascot Corner, Quebec, on Aug. 22, 1905. Ascot Corner is a few miles northeast of Sherbrooke. (Side note: My birthday is the next day. Daughter Kasey’s is the day after that.)

We do not plan to move to Canada, but it would be nice to be able to stay for extended visits, especially during the Texas summer. It is comforting to know that, depending on the bureaucracy and our health, we may have an option if things really deteriorate down here. I don’t expect that to happen, but it is wearying to wake up each morning wondering what fresh hell awaits us.

O, Canada!

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