“Come to Canada, son.” Was what my mom’s invitation letter said. She was sponsoring me to leave the warmth of the Caribbean and live with her, my younger brother and older sister who were already living with her in Canada.
Before the letter, I had my opinion of what Canada was. Photos of beautiful Vancouver and Montreal were etched in my mind. Sun, trees, skies, everything that makes a scenic photo were there. Everyone in the photos were smiling and beckoning me to come there. The photos of snow showed smiling people skating or playing in the while fluffy stuff. I loved the scarves and earmuffs look. I loved Canada. I longed to see snow.
What I my mom didn’t tell me and what the photos didn’t show were photos of icy roads and snowy rooftops. Of near whiteout conditions. Of blizzards in March. Of temperatures that sounded mild but with a windchill factored in, felt like hell really froze over. I never saw photos of mom stumbling through snow drifts on her way home from work. I didn’t see photos of her wrapped from head to snow to protect herself from the -50 windchill. In fact, I never saw photos of Winnipeg.
Mom’s letter should have said, “Come to Winterpeg son. You will be freezing for about half of the year but the other half is not too bad, once you get past the mosquitoes and the unbearable heat, your mommy guarantees that you will have at least a month of great weather to do whatever outdoor activity you choose to do. Come to Canada, son. Let’s chill together.”
Brrrr…Thanks Mom!
My Vuze, My Takes 
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