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The first verse of the Canadian national anthem declares how Canadians feel about their country: "Oh Canada! Our proud and native land!"
The world's second-largest country geographically is keenly aware of how underpopulated she is for that size. Canada is not only allowing immigrants to enter, it is seeking Canadian descendants to claim citizenship. My grandparents and all my great-grandparents were from the three Maritime Provinces.
A friend who knew my lineage alerted me to this possibility. What? Give up my American citizenship? Never. I know that being an American citizen is the envy of much of the world. I'd never do anything to endanger that. I mean, I'm dumb, but I'm not stupid. So I asked my friend, "What's the deal? Is it the kind of dual citizenship that the Brits and Irish have here?" My grandchildren have dual citizenship through their father, born in London. If that is what our northern buddies are offering, I think I'm a bit intrigued.
Of course, other than the Scots-Canadian blood running through my veins, I really have no good reason to pursue this idea. But I do have a few heart-tugging reasons to at least explore what the good people of Ottawa are offering.
Canadian journalist Sam Forster wrote: "Previously, Canadian citizenship laws had a 'first-generation limit' that prevented Canadian citizens born abroad from automatically passing their citizenship to a child also born abroad."
In 2023, an Ontario court ruled that this first-generation limit was unconstitutional. Then last year, the government amended the law and opened its doors to direct-line descendants ... parents, grandparents, great grandparents. That's me! I have a bunch of those direct-line kin.
My mom's mother, Nina Vinetta Keith, was born in Moncton, New Brunswick. in 1899. She married my grandfather, Malcolm Chester MacMillan, who hailed from the little burg of Wood Islands, Prince Edward Island. In thinking about that, I wasn't sure Wood Islands was still small as I'd always been told. The last population in 2011 was 470, mostly farmers and fishermen. In our family, all those Scots-Canadian fisherman were called Herring Chokers
I don't know how my grandparents met. Moncton is only 100 miles from Prince Edward Island, but even today it's a four-hour trip. Not exactly a hop, skip, and a splash. But wherever they bumped into each other, my 19-year-old grandmother married my 31-year-old grandfather. A year later they produced my mother, all 13 pounds, 14 ounces of her. And I think her birth may have been the reason they eventually emigrated to the States. For safety reasons.
Nina (my gram) was a type-one diabetic. Diabetes is the one disease prevalent in my lineage. Nina's sister had previously gone down to Boston to give birth because one of the hospitals specialized in diabetic maternity - which was very risky then. It was not a matter of giving birth to bestow American citizenship. It was a matter of surviving the process.
The young Mr. and Mrs. MacMillan returned to Canada with their enormous baby daughter. Grandpa named her Alberta. Yes, after the Canadian province. He had worked the wheat fields of Alberta for a few summers and said it was the most beautiful place he had ever seen.
When my grandmother was expecting again, they decided to emigrate. Eventually there was a total of four children, two boys and two girls, but each one took a toll on Nina's weakened diabetic body. When tuberculosis was added to her condition, she was gone in six months, leaving those four little ones aged 6, 4, 2 and new.
At one point in her childhood my mother returned to Canada. She spent fourth grade residing with her grandparents in New Brunswick but was sent back to Boston when illness struck her Canadian family. I remember Mom's identical smallpox vaccinations, one from each side of the border, side by side on her left arm. She grew so quickly that they were both long and oval shaped - twins! "The back one is the Canadian one," she explained to me.
I've felt like an honorary Canadian all my life. Growing up, I heard all the stories of the Canadian family - their history, the grand adventures, and the back and forth visits. And I treasure the memories from my mega-dozens of trips over the border to enjoy their fabulous theater and international dining. So, I'm just going to check it all out. No, I'm not considering relocating. But we live in a topsy-turvy world, and a little seaside cottage with an endless supply of lobster wouldn't be the worst place to spend my final days ....
The award-winning Marcy O'Brien writes from Warren, PA and can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com.