Blame Canada

remember when I told my parents that I was different. The setting was rather dim -- if that is how such ambiance can be described. Lighting in Chinese restaurants is notoriously low, which is an appropriate metaphor for how I was feeling at the time. But despite all the misgivings I had for what I was about to say, I knew it had to be said. Sure, they might think I was some sort of weirdo, even a shame to our distinct family name, which had been guarded and unblemished for decades. Despite all of this, it was high time to come clean. It was time to stop living a lie. \n"Mom, Dad," I stammered. "I'm \nCanadian."\nMy parents looked at me like I had just passed gas while receiving communion. If faces could actually melt from dismay, my parents' were doing just that.\n"What do you mean?" my father asked, as if I had been speaking gibberish.\n"I mean that I have become a Canadian citizen! You know, that huge-ass place up north!" My mother, never one to give in to an awkward moment, felt it necessary to dig in further. \n"How long has this little charade been going on?" she asked, as if something this serious, this monumental in one's life, could really be summed up in such an inquiry. \n"It's not a charade, mother!" I snapped back. "This is real, and I'm serious dammit!" There was a brief reflection of horror in my parents' expressions, and I realized I had broken the cardinal rule of bombshell dropping: Don't do it with sharp knives around. \nAfter a moment, my dad settled the mood. \n"Look, son, your mother and I love you, and you know that we support you in anything that you do, but what will the neighborhood think about you prancing around like some -- some maple leaf-loving fruit cake?!"\n"It's not like that!" I roared but was quick to calm my tone. "Canadians are good people. They lead a very clean lifestyle, and they're a really close community."\n"This is going to ruin Christmas!" cried my mom. "We can never tell your grandmother. How do you ever expect the family to take to you, walking around all prim and polite, bringing your little Canadian friends home to visit?" \nThere was a small pause between "little" and "Canadian," as if she had to stumble to think of the proper word to describe my new social circle. \nI had had enough. My parents were just going to have to accept the fact that I was different. Screw Christmas. Screw Grandma.\n"I'm sorry if this disappoints you. I can't change who I am. I'm here, I'm Canadian. Get over it!"\nFortunately, I've never had to deal with the prospect of telling my parents anything as difficult as the above situation described. I'm as American as they come, so no Canadian encounters in my future -- not that there's anything wrong with that.