I guess I fell in love with the United States when I was a little kid.
Dad used to take us on Sunday drives across the border and under Lake Erie, so we could experience the feelings of being out of Canada for a few hours.
The thing I liked the best was that I couldn't tell the difference between the two countries. The roads, the grass, the houses and cars, and especially the people, all seemed to be the same.
There was a bit more garbage in the ditches, stuff like pop bottles and papers, and sometimes we'd see a big rig I'd never come across before, but that's about it.
No one in the states ever knows I am Canadian, a foreigner, a legal alien, just by looking at me or talking to me, because we are all so much alike.
When I was young, I loved the concept of Disneyland, and how lucky could you be to be an American kid in California?
Florida was a paradise of dreams, and whenever any of my little classmates came back up from a winter drive to Florida for a couple of weeks, I peppered them with a thousand questions.
Palm trees are my favorite tree.
Sweet rolling towns with American church spires and wide lawns are my favorite towns.
Waitresses in roadside restaurants, that stand on freeway exits in the dawn hours of early morning, are my favorite American people, because they call you honey and always know what you need before you do, with a smile.
And truckers, sitting on bar stools at the long counter eating enormous breakfasts and talking quietly to anyone with earshot, are my favorite blue collar workers in the United States.
I like Washington and the wonder of being a part of the running of such a huge country.
I hate to say it, because sometimes it can get in the way of common sense, but American pride is unique to the world, in my experience, and not a bad asset.
There is no greater country to share a long border with, in my opinion, than the United States, because we are not enemies, never have been, and never will be.
There is a comfort, to both sides, knowing that.
Dad used to take us on Sunday drives across the border and under Lake Erie, so we could experience the feelings of being out of Canada for a few hours.
The thing I liked the best was that I couldn't tell the difference between the two countries. The roads, the grass, the houses and cars, and especially the people, all seemed to be the same.
There was a bit more garbage in the ditches, stuff like pop bottles and papers, and sometimes we'd see a big rig I'd never come across before, but that's about it.
No one in the states ever knows I am Canadian, a foreigner, a legal alien, just by looking at me or talking to me, because we are all so much alike.
When I was young, I loved the concept of Disneyland, and how lucky could you be to be an American kid in California?
Florida was a paradise of dreams, and whenever any of my little classmates came back up from a winter drive to Florida for a couple of weeks, I peppered them with a thousand questions.
Palm trees are my favorite tree.
Sweet rolling towns with American church spires and wide lawns are my favorite towns.
Waitresses in roadside restaurants, that stand on freeway exits in the dawn hours of early morning, are my favorite American people, because they call you honey and always know what you need before you do, with a smile.
And truckers, sitting on bar stools at the long counter eating enormous breakfasts and talking quietly to anyone with earshot, are my favorite blue collar workers in the United States.
I like Washington and the wonder of being a part of the running of such a huge country.
I hate to say it, because sometimes it can get in the way of common sense, but American pride is unique to the world, in my experience, and not a bad asset.
There is no greater country to share a long border with, in my opinion, than the United States, because we are not enemies, never have been, and never will be.
There is a comfort, to both sides, knowing that.
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