We love Canada!

“What high school did you go to?” That’s the question the people of St. Louis ask when they first meet each other. But, I don’t get asked that question. They can tell I didn’t go to high school here. I have an accent. Apparently it’s CUTE. I can’t hear it, of course. That’s the cool thing about accents; it sounds like everyone else has one but you!

Well that accent means that I get asked a different question. I get asked where I’m from. You might think that’s not very nice and I have to admit that I don’t recall ever asking someone that question in Toronto. But, here, it is never offensive. St. Louis is a small town at heart. People all seem to know each other or, at least, to have gone to school with a distant cousin three times removed.

But southern charm abounds here! When I say Canada, my interrogators always nod encouragingly and try to say something really nice about their northern neighbours. I’m paying close attention to this because I have noticed that my really southern friends won’t say anything bad about a person unless they first say, “Well, bless his soul but...” So far nobody has preceded a Canada comment with a blessing, so I think we’re alright!

In fact, the people of St. Louis are SO nice that they try to say something GOOD about Canada. The problem is that it is a real reach for some. I mean, we don’t exactly make the evening news here. And, to be fair, they think I’m going to say Minnesota, so they already have cleverly thought of its state flower, or an isolated cottage to which they’d once been invited in that state.

So, when I answer, “Canada”, there’s an admirably short pause before the friendly, welcoming mid-Westerner will smile and quickly reel off a fact about Canada. Lately, we’re in dangerous territory, with Obama holding up our healthcare system as an example of an alternative for the wealthiest country in the world! Of late, I get, “So, you think you live longer than us, do you?” and “Tell me about your socialized healthcare”. I’ve figured out that “socialized” is a polite synonym for communism.

When my husband arrived here, he was asked if loons make “good eating” and was complimented on the pretty tunnel between Windsor and Detroit. I’ll admit to being just as bad; I mean, I’ve often wondered if bald eagles made “good eating” and I would have been hard pressed to point to the state of Missouri on a map before moving here.

My favourite encounter was with a sweet but rather dotty saleslady at Dillard’s who told me very kindly that she’d once seen the lights of Vancouver from the southern shores of Lake Ontario in upper New York when she was visiting a friend there.

Long live the great friendship along the longest unarmed border in the world!