'So, where are you from?' An open letter to my sesquicentennial baby

To my dear son Max,

As I write this letter, you are a few weeks old. It will be years until you're able to read and understand this, but I wanted to do something special to mark your arrival. You see, mon fils, your birth year coincides with Canada 150.

The milestone has sparked many complicated conversations, which you'll have a lifetime to learn more about — but I wanted to explore one part of it with you today.

You see, you're not merely a "Canadian citizen," you're also "Chinese-Canadian." This is like being a member of a special club. We don't really have a cool secret handshake or a team jersey, but the food at our gatherings is fantastic.

Being Chinese-Canadian seems straightforward — either one or both of your parents are of Chinese descent. But as you grow up, you may find the journey of figuring out your personal identity as intricate as the circulatory system pumping the blood through your tiny body.

Your father is the first Canadian-born child of Chinese immigrants. Your mother can trace her ancestry back to the 17th century in Nouvelle France.

Your history will play a part in shaping how you see yourself and your place in this world, so let me share some key details about your heritage with you.

Thirteen generations

Your Ma Ma and Yeh Yeh would be considered an immigrant success story.

They arrived here from Hong Kong during the late-1970s, early-1980s; started a business, worked tirelessly to build it up; lived in the same small town for more than 30 years and gave me and your auntie a happy suburban upbringing.

But as idyllic as our lives were, every so often someone would yell "Go back to your own country!" at us.

Kids used to mock me by making slanty eyes and tell me the Chinese food your grandmother had lovingly packed in my lunchbag was "weird and smelled gross" (For the record, Soy Sauce Ginger Chicken is not gross, it's delicious).

I felt embarrassed by your grandparents' accents. Then, as I got older, I felt ashamed that I took for granted how hard they had to work to even learn the language.

I often felt, despite all official documents, that we'd never be accepted as, y'know, Canadian Canadian.

Even now, once in awhile, someone will ask me, "So, where are you from?" I say, "Well, from here. I'm Canadian." Then they say, "Right, but where are you really from?"

Nobody ever asks your mom this question.

Through her, your connection to this country goes back more than 350 years. Your French forebearers arrived in Quebec City in the 1660s, when it was part of the New France-era of colonization in North America. You also have German relatives who've lived in Alberta since the early 1900s.

Between both your parents, you have something like a whopping 13 generations of Canadian heritage behind you (even though most of that is courtesy of your mom).

So, where are you from?

Since you and your sister were born, I've wondered what kinds of questions you'll get.

Some consider people like your grandparents and your father to be "New Stock" Canadians. It's a term used to describe Canadians whose connections to this country are relatively young but, as I write this, it's still not clear how long we must wait to be "Old Stock."

You may come across people who argue that being able to trace your lineage here further back makes you "more Canadian" than someone whose roots are still freshly planted and tender.

It's a complicated discussion. It can be a hurtful one.

I have always prefered to look at it this way — whether your family has been here for a few centuries or just a few days, we are privileged to be here. This privilege wouldn't exist without the pain, sacrifice, and determination of those who came before.

When you get older, you'll find out more about the darkness in Canada's past, from the haunting legacy of residential schools to the internment of Japanese-Canadians.

And you, as a Chinese-Canadian, may be surprised to learn that on July 1, 1923 (Canada Day, no less) the government passed a law banning nearly all Chinese immigration into the country.

The full history is a story for another time, son, but this decree tore families just like ours apart.

This country is by no means some flawless utopia. It never has been and it never will be. But it is our home.

Where you belong

One day, someone may look at you and your unique features and ask you where you're from. Y'know, where are you really from?

Well, here's what I believe. You're not "New Stock" or "Old Stock," you're a blend of both — "Neold Stock," if you will.

Your life is truly a Canadian story, one that bridges the past and future of this country. Someday you may write a letter to your new baby, and on that day, I hope you are as optimistic about your child's place here as I am for you.

One last thing, kiddo. If you ever question where you belong, just look to your family: a mash-up of white faces, black hair, French last names and dim sum on the Sunday brunch table.

You belong with us.

Love always,

Dad