I can't tell you the number of times people have guessed me as Canadian. At first I scoffed at them. You don't see me being super-quaint and saying "eh" after everything do you? No. I'm AMERICAN, dammit. And my attitude in reaction to your question is proving so! So ha!
oh wait...
i forgot...
I'm, like, 50% Canadian.
And I spent large, wonderful portions of my childhood playing on the beautiful shores of Lake Huron in Ontario, Canada in a unique cottage built by the hands of my own Grandfather.
Building bonfires and digging in sand. Combing the stream for clay and making disfigured figurines. Running up steep dirt roads and through massive cornfields. Sitting on my mom's lap and driving the minivan at 7mph. Being summoned from the lake by a cowbell and consuming deviled eggs and sandwiches and canadian sweet jam cookies. Playing shoots and ladders and being entertained by my Grandpa's (puppet) friend Peanutbutter while heart thumping thunderstorms swept trees and rocked the lake outside. Getting splinters in tree forts and poison ivy in the forest backyard. Befriending pigeons when my brothers went to camp. Drinking up sunsets. The smell of coffee and my Grandma in the morning.
I'm a lucky little part-Canadian with a mild accent groomed by the sweet summer breezes of Mckay's Gorgeous Gorge.
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