The immigration officer's hand shot out at me, waist high, with a military snap.
I flinched but I needn't have.
I flinched but I needn't have.
"Sir, " he said, "welcome to Canada."
As I unwrapped my spindly fingers from around his meat claw it dawned on me that I was now a permanent resident of Canada.
My new home had officially accepted me, a faceless bureaucrat at the Canadian Consul found me to be truthful, honest and trustworthy and granted me permission to stay while a burly Newfoundland immigration officer at the aptly named southern port of Fortune confirmed it with a stiff handshake and a heartfelt profession of pride.
I could tell Charlie, that's the immigration officer, was proud to be Canadian and he was darn happy to be the first person to welcome me into his country, his home.
With those thoughts ricocheting in my skull I turned to Em and started crying. She laughed.
I tried to laugh but I was too busy crying so I kind of blubbered a bit, it's not every day you become part of a new country.
Congratulations to you from a dual US/CDN living in Boston and counting the days until retirement.
ReplyDeleteMargaret