Squandrous

I don’t really remember my family’s move from Dar Es Salaam to New York (I was too young, at the time, to have any vivid memories from the trip) but I do remember the day we packed up our bags and moved to Toronto. (My move to Canada is an essential, formative memory; I’ll share more about it later.)

My father left before the rest of us. He had taken several bags of luggage with him across the border on an Amtrak train and had set up a place for us to live (with my uncle) for a few weeks until we were able to find our own apartment. My mother and I came later, and were welcomed to Canada by a blustery, snowy day and my father, a proud Canadian immigrant, ready for his family to join him on his next adventure in life.

(video via)