Bunny Tales Read Online Free Page B

began taking English lessons, and I was sent to school. Mind you I only knew about ten words in English, such as “orange” and “pencil,” and I knew the days of the week, but I had learned to say them with a heavy British accent, so people in Prince George had no idea what I was saying. But again, I adapted. I made friends and learned English, my third language, quickly and even won the spelling bee in my school; I may not have know what those words meant, but I sure could spell them!
    I enjoyed the novelty of living in a place where grizzly bears and moose frequented people’s backyards and where a person didn’t go buy a Christmas tree but went to chop it down himself, almost drowning in the snow on his quest for the perfect tree. But the one thing I was disappointed about was that I did not see American Indians with long hair riding horses everywhere. I had read novels about American Indians and fell in love with their culture and way of life. I had a romanticized notion that they still lived in tepees and wore traditional clothes and that I would fall in love with a chief ’s son—yes, Dances with Wolves is one of my favorite movies. My naiveté may seem silly to Americans, but I grew up in a country that was ninety-nine percent homogenous. Until we moved to Athens, I had seen only one African person. He was the only black man in our town, and when he walked by, I would stare at him in awe. He was married to a Polish woman, and they had the most gorgeous children. We called them mulatto, and for me, that word stood for beautiful skin and exotic features. I always wished I had their tan skin. I grew up without any concept or notion of racism. I had no idea that in other parts of the world, people judged each other based on the color of their skin. To me, anyone with a different color of skin was exotic and fascinating, and I longed to meet them and learn about their culture. I never knew what a tremendously different world awaited me.
    Just when I was getting settled in my new life in Prince George, my parents announced that we were moving again. I was sad to leave my new friends and my beautiful, wild surroundings. But they saw no future for them in this charming, but sleepy, lumber town; there were few jobs and none of the opportunities they were looking for. They came to Canada to build a new life, to pursue a dream, and they could not stop until they had the opportunity. The plan was to move to Toronto in the province of Ontario, in eastern Canada, because it has a lot of industry, jobs, and growth. So with some money they saved from any odd jobs they could get, my parents bought a van. It was an old white van with only two seats, the driver and passenger. We packed the van with the few belongings we had acquired and embarked on a trip across Canada, the second largest country in the world. Through the natural beauty of British Columbia, the spectacular Rockies of Alberta, the never-ending prairies and plains of Saskatchewan and Manitoba, to the Great Lakes surrounding Ontario, it was an incredible trip—even though I had no seat and was squashed among the furniture in the back. We had never been to Toronto, nor did we have a place to stay there; we just went. This was the spirit that was passed on to me by my parents, this fearlessness, the ability to take a risk and pursue the unknown in hopes of bettering your life. That courageous spirit has been with me all of my life.
    We eventually settled in Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario, about an hour southwest of Toronto. Kitchener is famous for having the largest Oktoberfest celebration outside of Germany. Each year tourists from all over Canada and the United States flock to the town to drink beer, eat sausages with sauerkraut, and sing. Another claim to fame for K—W, as we call it, was that former heavyweight champion Lennox Lewis grew up there (he was born in Jamaica and now lives in the United Kingdom) and attended a high school two minutes from my house. When