Allison had said. Surely Mom and Dad weren’t thinking of moving. Didn’t Mom say that small towns like Ajax were safe?
That Friday evening, at the dinner table, my mother asked her usual question, “Do you like your new school?” I guess she wanted to know if I had made any new friends.
Before I could answer, my father began one of his long speeches. As usual, it was about his childhood in Uganda. I knew what would come next. In the beginning, they were so poor that they didn’t waste a single scrap of anything. He and his three brothers worked every day in their father’s clothing store, Baba’s Emporium (sucha grand word for “shop”!). They kept working there, even when they grew up to be young men. When they were chased out of the country by the government, Dad’s father had said, “This is just a new opportunity.” And the family split up to find these new opportunities. Dad’s parents went to England and his brothers went to Singapore, Australia, and Canada.
I had heard this hard-luck story a hundred times, but that night I had an insight. If I had been in a cartoon, a light bulb would have appeared up above my head. This is what I suddenly knew: Dad’s nomad story was just a cover. He moved so much because he was scared of being chased away once more. He would rather choose to move than be forced to move. No longer would others control his decisions.
I ate in silence as my father continued his story. At the end of the meal, I had another light-bulb moment. I had to convince my father that Ajax was different. He would never be chased from this town, where people seemed to spend their entire lives.
Allison, who was eighteen months younger than me, believed there was a pattern to all ourmoves. Each move brought us closer to Toronto. That city would surely come next. She seemed thrilled by the idea of moving there.
One night, both of us were watching the news on the living room TV. Allison said, “Everything’s happening in Toronto.” As she continued, I saw that, for her, Toronto was some sort of magical place, with concerts and formal dances and costume parties and festivals. Only young and beautiful people lived in her sparkling city. Maybe she believed that they shipped all the old folks to places like Ajax.
“The festivals would be so much fun,” she said.
“There are also festivals here,” I told her.
She slumped on the couch and said, “Yeah, but just for old people. Jam and pickle festivals.”
“What about the lake? There are always games and other activities going on there.”
“Some people have grown up. In case you haven’t noticed,” she said.
I realized that Allison would be no help in convincing my parents that Ajax was a great little town. In fact, soon I was sure she was sabotaging me. Every time I pointed out something good,she shot it down. One day, when we were bringing the groceries in from the car, I said, “The hospital is so close you can see it from the parking lot.”
“Yeah. And you can hear the ambulances all night.”
Another morning, Mom was packing our school lunches. I said, “You should take a break, Mom. We can get really good food in the school cafeteria.”
Allison added, “And have you noticed that all the black and white and brown kids sit in their own separate spots?”
No, I had not noticed that, but I would not give up. “I’m sure it’s the same in Toronto.”
I tried to think of good things about Ajax that Allison could not sabotage. That evening, when my parents were watching the news, I said in a fake-casual voice, “There’s hardly any crime here. All the gangs seem to live in Toronto.”
“There’s nothing here to steal,” Allison said. “Except for flower pots and garden gnomes.” I had to admire Allison: she had not missed a beat. I realized at that moment that I would have to come up with a smarter plan. I wouldhave to find something special about Ajax that Allison could not strike down.
I focused on the old wartime
That Friday evening, at the dinner table, my mother asked her usual question, “Do you like your new school?” I guess she wanted to know if I had made any new friends.
Before I could answer, my father began one of his long speeches. As usual, it was about his childhood in Uganda. I knew what would come next. In the beginning, they were so poor that they didn’t waste a single scrap of anything. He and his three brothers worked every day in their father’s clothing store, Baba’s Emporium (sucha grand word for “shop”!). They kept working there, even when they grew up to be young men. When they were chased out of the country by the government, Dad’s father had said, “This is just a new opportunity.” And the family split up to find these new opportunities. Dad’s parents went to England and his brothers went to Singapore, Australia, and Canada.
I had heard this hard-luck story a hundred times, but that night I had an insight. If I had been in a cartoon, a light bulb would have appeared up above my head. This is what I suddenly knew: Dad’s nomad story was just a cover. He moved so much because he was scared of being chased away once more. He would rather choose to move than be forced to move. No longer would others control his decisions.
I ate in silence as my father continued his story. At the end of the meal, I had another light-bulb moment. I had to convince my father that Ajax was different. He would never be chased from this town, where people seemed to spend their entire lives.
Allison, who was eighteen months younger than me, believed there was a pattern to all ourmoves. Each move brought us closer to Toronto. That city would surely come next. She seemed thrilled by the idea of moving there.
One night, both of us were watching the news on the living room TV. Allison said, “Everything’s happening in Toronto.” As she continued, I saw that, for her, Toronto was some sort of magical place, with concerts and formal dances and costume parties and festivals. Only young and beautiful people lived in her sparkling city. Maybe she believed that they shipped all the old folks to places like Ajax.
“The festivals would be so much fun,” she said.
“There are also festivals here,” I told her.
She slumped on the couch and said, “Yeah, but just for old people. Jam and pickle festivals.”
“What about the lake? There are always games and other activities going on there.”
“Some people have grown up. In case you haven’t noticed,” she said.
I realized that Allison would be no help in convincing my parents that Ajax was a great little town. In fact, soon I was sure she was sabotaging me. Every time I pointed out something good,she shot it down. One day, when we were bringing the groceries in from the car, I said, “The hospital is so close you can see it from the parking lot.”
“Yeah. And you can hear the ambulances all night.”
Another morning, Mom was packing our school lunches. I said, “You should take a break, Mom. We can get really good food in the school cafeteria.”
Allison added, “And have you noticed that all the black and white and brown kids sit in their own separate spots?”
No, I had not noticed that, but I would not give up. “I’m sure it’s the same in Toronto.”
I tried to think of good things about Ajax that Allison could not sabotage. That evening, when my parents were watching the news, I said in a fake-casual voice, “There’s hardly any crime here. All the gangs seem to live in Toronto.”
“There’s nothing here to steal,” Allison said. “Except for flower pots and garden gnomes.” I had to admire Allison: she had not missed a beat. I realized at that moment that I would have to come up with a smarter plan. I wouldhave to find something special about Ajax that Allison could not strike down.
I focused on the old wartime
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