On Canada
Some wise words from a 1st generation Canadian recollecting their childhood, and a wealth of social programs.
This experience mirrors my own and those of the people around me.
I remember a classmate in 7th grade art class I'd known since kindergarten. She was Chinese and a 1st generation kid in the 1980s. Both her and her sister had perfected the art of appearing to be flawless children. She told me about Björk Guðmundsdóttir in 6th grade then got into Opera. I thought she was so cool, and I still remember her that way.
Back in art class we were all assigned to make a life drawing of our homes. I was so excited to tell the story of my childhood home, as a white kid living in a post-WWII house my late grandfather built with his RCAF buddies after the war. Said classmate however sheepishly hid her drawing which we all begged her to see. She showed what seemed to me to be a completely reasonable row cottage from Hamilton's NW neighbourhood by the lake.
But she was humiliated. In the 1980s in Hamilton those homes were very affordable for reasons of environmental pollution, disinvestment and a lot of post-steel mill poverty. Of course any new comer today would love to own a home like that given the absurd current value of a roof and four walls. But in the milieu of 1980s middle-class Canada that was a poor person's house. It did not matter to me or any of our classmates but it mattered very much to her. Her flawless academic façade had cracked.
It's not that I felt anything but horror for her, I looked up to her. A young gay white boy possibly seeing myself in the other. This is where art class comes back into play. The art teacher addressed her outside the classroom as he had no idea that assignment would upset students, let alone a known star pupil. There in art class we all talked about how we feel about home and what it says about us. And what it didn't say about us, individually. I am pretty certain I am not fabricating a memory in the resolution for this young woman being satisfactory. There at the art class table we all let her know it didn't matter if her house was small. Because we had a well funded art class with an experienced instructor and teacher.
Last time I checked her out she was a big deal at a pretty well know New York City art institution. I hope she gets to see the Opera in New York whenever she wants.
Fund the arts.