This first -person column is written by Thomas Aguinaga, musician, writer and international exchange coordinator at Ottawa University. He was born and grew proudly in Aylmer, who. This column is part of a Canada’s day series exploring what Canada means for people from this country. For more information about CBC’s first person stories, see frequent questions.
In 1983, my father, Brian Aguinaga, stepped on his foot in St-Jean-Sur-Richelieu, who., (“St-jean” to the locals) for the first time.
Like many new military recruits, he was completing his French training at the base of the city. He was an “Anglo” of almost 19 years of new Scotland, through Ontario, with little time in “Province of Belle”.
The plan was to quickly finish their training and avoid being cornered in linguistically uncomfortable situations with the locals.
But one night he was tempted to leave, and was cornered in a linguistically uncomfortable situation with my mother.
Josée Lachance, an 18-year-old Francophone from St-Jean- was injured. It was also dad. His friends became his involuntary translators for the night.
On later dates, now without friends, they would walk the streets of St-Jean playing a game they called “Dictionary.” The rules were simple: see an object, call it and the other repeats it in their language. “Leaf,” said Dad. “Feuille,” Mom replied. “Car,” he proclaimed. “Auto,” she replied.
They continued, learning the language of the other, and falling in love, one word at the same time.
They married, and Dad’s military career took them to all of Canada: Victoria, Halifax and Kingston, Ontario.
Finally, they had children (my sister, then me), and settled in Aylmer, a diverse and bilingual suburb on the Quebec side of the Ottawa river and 15 minutes from Ottawa. My parents, now bilingual, made sure we also learned both official languages.
We speak English with dad and French with mom. We saw CBC and Radio-Canada, we celebrated the day of Canada and St-Jean-Baptiste and supported all the NHL Canadian teams. We were never half Canadians or half Québécois. We were completely and without shame both.
My education was open, bilingual and biker, but I only discovered what that meant for me when I moved to Alberta.
Going to the west
My decision to venture in West in 2017 was double: at that time, Alberta had a more suitable NDP government for my progressive sensibilities and this contrasts with the separatism and nationalism that I saw grow in Quebec.
For me, this culminated in the approval of the bill 21 a few years later, a legislation that prevents certain public sector employees as teachers from using religious symbols at work, and that fundamentally contradicts my values as French Canadians and as someone who studied education.
Then, at 21, I moved to Edmonton and studied at the University of Alberta.
For me, Edmonton was not just a place, he brought a perspective. On my own for the first time: juggling, work, work, rent and edible and with the family too far to trust, I grew up. I began to see and accept more nuances and complexity in the world, both in Alberta and at home.
Perspective from distance
I began to consider the possibility that Quebec is not federalist or sovereignty, bilingual or involuntary, left or right. It was, completely and without shame, all those things. I just had to choose which of those values defined me as abécois: it was a French French, Bilingual and Left French Canadian, who lived in Alberta, and proud of it.
Then, over time, my descriptions of my native province to friends and classmates in the west became more affectionate: painting an image of a wooded suburb in the Ottawa River, and a couple who lived there, a person who spoke French, the other English, but never more laughing and loving, and above all comprehensive.
I have finished university now, and last year, I returned to Ottawa.
When my parents had to choose where to live, they settled on the Quebec side of the capital’s region, seeking to balance French and English for their children. When I met the same decision, I chose Ontario.
I wasn’t ready to return home and maybe I will never be. What I do know is that Ottawa gives me exactly what I need at this time: I live a short distance from the family and an even shorter trip to a job that I love, and I can more easily avoid the frustrations of the Quebec policy, from this side of the river. In general, I prefer to be an expatriate Québécois.
As for my career, I work with students in an international exchange program at the totally bilingual University of Ottawa. It is a job in which I help ensure that students are prepared to live elsewhere, maybe as for me to understand where they are.
My Canada
He took a little movement, but I know what it means to be Canadian for me now.
Like British Protestants and French Catholics of the Confederation, and on a much smaller scale, my parents have shown me that the commitment may not be easy, but it can work. Language and culture do not need to divide. In any case, when combined, they are active that they appreciate over time, in our children and theirs, until something new emerges from the midpoint.
Quebec gave me a unique voice, Alberta taught me to sing the words, and now in my career, Ontario gave me a microphone.
My parents gave me two languages to express my gratitude. Thank you. Merci
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