An American in Canada

My first semester in Canada was spent in a snug, quaint igloo. I was provided with a myriad of activities and games during frosh week, such as ice fishing and hockey. I was greeted by an echoing “eh” and given a warm plaid jacket and a rifle to fend off the gathering moose. Or not.
Why Canada? I wanted to do something different. No one I knew in my entire graduating class was going to school out of country. (Few left the state.) And Canada’s not all that different from America. Yet, the differences throw me for a loop every time I’m confronted by them. I think I have this oxymoron figured out, though.
Because of Canada’s abundant cultural and societal similarities to the U.S., the slightest out-of-place gesture or accent can cause a double take. There is a constant lingering essence that reminds me I’m not really home. Example: My first day of chemistry, my professor wrote three variables on the board: x, y and z. Now, I bet all of you would pronounce those letters: “ex,” “why” and “zee.” Well, my professor read them as “ex,” “why” and “zed.” So, with my nearly closed eyelids and coffee in hand at 8:34 a.m., I take this as fact: In chemistry, “z” must be pronounced “zed.” Later, while playing hangman, a “zed” was requested. My jaw dropped approximately five inches (not centi-meters), and I had been taught my first Canadian speech lesson: “Z” is “zed” in Canada.
I was not immune to cultural differences. I went to see a movie that revolved entirely around curling. I learned that, in Ontario, there was something called OAC (a 13th grade in high school), so I was a year younger and a grade level behind everyone else in my class. And my first ever hockey devastation occurred when the Canadian team slammed the Americans in the Olympics. But even though one of my schemes was to branch out my cultural knowledge, I still flocked toward the homegrown.
I developed a close tie with a Vermon-tonian. We occasionally downplayed Canada from time to time to maintain our cultural standing as the arrogant Americans. I told a friend I was writing this article about an American going to a Canadian school. He quipped, “Is it really all that different?” No, it’s not. It wasn’t terrifying to spend my first year away from home in a foreign country because it never really seemed that foreign. But the minimal differences do keep my curiosity piqued and my eyes open. Perhaps it’s just one of those things that you’ll have to be here to get. Maybe then you’ll be able to spend a semester in an igloo wearing a plaid jacket.

Celene Haberkost, 19, is a sophomore at University of Guelph in Ontario, Canada.

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