I’ve been living in Canada for so long that any true culture shock I faced is now a distant memory.
Or so I thought, until last month.
I’ve been living in Canada for so long that any true culture shock I faced is now a distant memory.
Or so I thought, until last month.
At four, I considered Mark was old enough to help me mangle a North American classic: cupcakes. The challenge? Two persons, one kitchen, yummy ingredients but abysmal baking skills.
“Dude, if you were your dad, I’d say you were skillfully changing the subject of the conversation. In fact, you sound like your dad when I’m trying to have a serious and open chat about our relationship—”
Ladies and gentlemen, it was true. Kids do grow up.
I’m standing in the middle of the schoolyard and Mark is holding my hand very tightly. He probably thinks that like a balloon, I’m going to fly away the moment he lets it go.
I almost missed the French éducation nationale. Sure, like millions of students, I regularly protested various education reforms over the years, but at least the ministry’s communication efforts were consistent and on a national basis.