“Green Bowl” Phone Photo, DS
I Could Write a Book: a Rant by Deborah Stephan
I could write a book
About attempts
To be friendly with
Other cultures.
1.
One woman invited for tea
Arrived in a full Armani suit
And heels. Her formality astounded
We chatted at length
In a hoped-for informal manner.
Unobtrusive topics came like stringed
Pearls: family, country, travels, interests.
Exhausted I quite enjoyed it.
She left after an hour and a half
She would invite me to her place soon.
She said
I waited honestly
Thinking
She would like a new friend too.
Did I offend her –
By my lack of rich food
By my wearing of jeans and t-shirt
By my views or
By something cultural?
I saw her only
Where she chatted with others.
2.
When I worked at the bank
A woman of another colour invited
Me to her home for dinner.
She told me of how her coworkers pulled
The chair from behind her as she sat down,
Of how she was pregnant.
I had no words.
I had no training in handling bullying.
I was young and shy.
I could only lend an ear.
3.
Years later another coworker invited
Me to her place in
The Beaches part of Toronto.
I felt privileged.
I liked her a lot for her –
Subtly creative office wear,
Her kind voice
Her interesting words.
Mea Culpa
I tried to convert her and
She called me on it. She was actually
My culture but not my religion.
4.
I heard a woman would be
Alone with her two
Children for Christmas.
Her husband was in Asia over
The holidays. We invited
The three for Christmas Eve dinner –
An act of courage as children were
Outside of our comfort zone then.
We prepared –
A festive feast,
Candlelit ambiance,
A warm welcome.
They –
Ate,
Shared about school (as all three attended classes),
Opened small gifts,
Viewed the crèche and
Left late.
Over the following months there
Was disappointment that they were not
Invited over for every special occasion.
Gradually they stopped saying much
When we ran into each other.
5.
When I was a child I followed a girl
Through a forbidden iron gate
To the older part of town.
I did not really know why.
It seemed that I did not want her
To keep on feeling alone.
6.
I met a woman formally
Through a volunteer agency.
Weekly at her place
For months
We conversed.
Her hospitality and appreciation
Were heartwarming.
My mother visited from Ontario,
Was insistently invited to join us
For a lunch she beautifully prepared.
Her mother was far away
She said.
It was a good memory.
After a few more visits
She stopped returning my calls.
I was confused and grieved.
Did I do something?
Her life seemed so perfect
I had often wondered
Why she wanted a relationship with me
At all.
A couple of years later
I saw her in a bank.
She was disheveled.
I went up to her.
She hugged me, smiled and
Said she had to go.
In the interim there had been 9/11.
7.
Another woman was my race
But another culture.
She shared her life with me over coffee.
A while after the formal relationship ended
She wanted for us to be friends.
I liked her and she made wonderful cakes.
We got together a few times as couples.
It became obvious that he was a tyrant.
Inevitably I disagreed with his political views and
It became impossible for me
To see how he spoke to his wife.
8.
Several summers, six to be exact,
We offered homestay to students.
It was labour intensive
Showing them around the city
Helping them to English language school.
The conversations at meals covered
Everything from family life to
The shocking revelation that a cougar
Had been cited at the end of our street.
I never cooked so many new recipes
Nor had so many of the picnics I love.
We laughed at their delight in seeing our garden
And cried when their backpacks were
Stolen from the bus.
It ended gradually over things like –
Fatigue over forgotten and program required chores
A large unpaid phone bill, oh, and
A girl who talked to me like the mother
She rebelled against.
9.
It took almost a year to
Become a surrogate grandmother to
A young boy. I had requested
A girl but none available.
We met with the mother at their beautiful place.
Their mothers were in another country
They knew someone who had
A Volunteer Grandmother here.
It had gone so well
She said
She added
So much to the family.
The boy was –
Handsome,
Smart
Rambunctious.
He and his mother had
A close relationship.
Although we met – the three of us –
many times over the next year –
Her house and mine,
Meeting her husband and mine,
Attended events and had fun,
Yet
I was never able to handle (see) the child
Alone.
I did correct his behaviours however.
Did this lead to the atrophy (demise)
Of our meetings.
Sometimes I still miss that boy
Pray for him.
Over the past few years
I have had many occasions to hire care aides.
I like them, almost all of them.
Found that if I get too friendly they
Become bossy and will not
Listen to the things I need done.
Some will share too much and not work,
Which of course cannot succeed.
I am now kindly distant.
10.
A refugee woman had just had a baby,
Was –
Alone,
Disabled and
Needed help.
A team was mustered to be
With her for two-hour shifts throughout the day.
Although I signed up,
I was never called.
I really wanted to hold that baby.
…
Is it that I am
Overweight,
Too grey,
Too blonde,
Too uneducated,
Too educated,
Too rich,
Too poor,
Too feminist,
Too religious,
Not religious in the right way?
Pop-up friendships seem to be my forte.
As a member of the majority culture
I am supposed to be privileged.
I get it,
In some ways I am.
Sometimes it seems my country is
As if more and more people are moving
Into my house –
A few invited,
Some have crashed in and
Others do not even realize that it is my house.
I welcome them
I live in some rooms while trying
To be social with those in the other rooms.
As someone descended
From the United Empire Loyalists,
My ownership of the house has been –
Bought,
Paid for
Fought for
Or now that I remember my research
They may have been given a tract of
Land by the government
Yet what comes to the fore
Is that my ancestors or those like them,
Did –
Not pay a fair price,
Did not make all of the
Payments on the ancient ‘lease.’
Is the idea that no one owns
The ‘house’ called Canada –
Not even those who paid for and fought for it?
Those who have been welcomed,
Have they paid a part for ownership too?
The newest comers, many wealthy, have
They are they literally buying parts of the ‘house’ (country)?
It seems the property has been divided
Into sub lots.
Many houses are now
On the land we bought.
More are allowed because they were
Desperate.
Many rushed our borders and seem to
Take resources that are scarce
for those here –
Seniors
The working poor
Foster children
The ill and disabled
I feel confused.
Is it that my wanting to be –
Social with all
That is not working?
We need to be multi-culturally separate
Yet equal, yet
A house divided against itself cannot
Stand.
What about unity?
Where are our borders,
Our boundaries of ownership?
Do we just let the land be over run
By uninvited squatters whose values
Do not align with –
Home ownership,
Neighbourliness,
Democracy?
Obviously,
Since this has turned into an ersatz rant,
I do not get it.
Yet my children do.
They work well with all cultures and races.
Yet I notice though that they mostly socialize
With their own.
I guess as humans together
In a wonderful country
I had hoped for more.
In the meantime I accept invitations and
Extend them to people who are not like me (it seems).
In this way, I prepare for a heaven of human colour.
ShellseekerReflections 