Niverville is the place I call home. I haven’t lived there in over 35 years, yet it still brings back wonderful memories of my younger years. I was born in Paraguay and moved to Canada within 6 months of my birth. We lived on what was then William Street and I walked to school every day—rain, sleet, or snow.
After high school, a year in England, and a few living in Winnipeg, I moved with my American husband to Tennessee, leaving my large close-knit family behind. The bravado of youth and the prospect of adventure beckoned loudly. I quickly opened a hairstyling shop and began to know the natives. As a Canadian, I was full of attitude regarding Americans and their ways. I engaged new friends and acquaintances with gusto, debating the black/white problem and the American love affair with guns. With the idealism of youth, I thought I knew better.
From my new friends, the most egregious sin I encountered was a complete ignorance of Canada and Canadians. More than once I heard “Canada is communist, right?” or “Canadians live in igloos, right?” By contrast, as Canadians living next door to the USA, America was always on our radar.
I found Americans friendly despite their lack of knowledge about the rest of the world. However, in the south, something else became clear. Contrary to my upbringing, where being direct in conversation was a virtue, asking questions in my new homeland was interpreted as inquisitive or just plain rude. The people’s warm friendliness threw me off, because I interpreted my conversations literally. If a new friend said she would like to have me over, I thought that’s what she intended. It took some time before I understood that the words were a cultural norm, and often no dinner invitation would be forthcoming. No malice or slight was implied in this.
Time has passed and I have more than acclimated to my adopted country. I am blessed with many friends. When I am asked if I know someone’s friend John who lives in Ontario, I just smile and say no. I don’t bother to huff and puff. During discussions about the Second Amendment (the right to bear arms), I understand the rationale and complexity of the debate.
Throughout my time in the southern USA, my pride in Canada and being a Canadian has increased. My small town roots make me proud. In Niverville, I developed an appetite for travel and for knowing and connecting with people. Niverville was a safe place to grow up. Although we were not very diverse back then—and we were plenty judgmental—the years seem to have mellowed the community.
Though my decisions led me into a broader world, I love to come home and catch up with the people and growth taking place. Niverville is unique, changing and growing in size and inclusivity. I would like to think I mirror that!
