Out the window of our apartment in China…
Out the patio door of our short-time home in British Columbia.
The sun hadn’t even begun to brighten the sky and we were pulling our kids from their beds. “Mom, it’s only 5:30,” they moaned.
“We are flying to Canada today,” I reminded them. And with that they shot out of bed and were soon loading our suitcases and carry-ons into the tiny elevator and down to the van driver we had hired to take us to the airport. Brian and I tried to keep up.
It had been three years since we had set foot in our “home and native land”, and our oldest had been asking when we would go back for almost as long.
I am thrilled that the kids get a chance to experience Canada. Their life is China. They don’t know what it’s like to have a backyard, to be just one of the neighbourhood kids. In China, their white skin and light hair cause them to stick out, to be called “foreigner” every time they set foot outside of our apartment.
We have spent the past eight years teaching them how to function in that environment, and they have learned a lot of neat skills because of it, but we haven’t had the chance to teach them many of the skills necessary for living in Canada.
Even in Canada, many people seem to be fascinated with our kids, they are fluent in Chinese and are filling their third passport with stamps from around Asia. But in order to have these great experiences they have missed out on others.
Now we are back in Canada. Brian and I are trying to remember how to function here, picking up where we left off, so that we can try to teach our kids. They have a lifetime of catching up to do.