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Sarnia.
I spent most of my growing-up years (ages 4-17) living near the city of Port Huron, which is mostly only interesting to people who don't live near it because it has one of Michigan's three border crossings with Canada - the one featured in ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kelliem's Crossroads, in fact (yeah, I admit it, I squee for the Blue Water Bridge).
The nearest water park to where I lived then was Splashdown, on the other side of the Bridge - so on exceptionally hot days or for summer rec field trips, it was off to Canada for the day. After all, Canada was only half an hour away (depending on Bridge traffic) and they had a water park.
(Funny story: A few days before the first time I was supposed to go to Splashdown, I went with a friend of mine to her grandmother's house, and her grandmother took us down to the beach, perhaps a mile upstream from the Bridge. I was about five or six, not a particularly strong swimmer, and was sitting in an inner tube. I started drifting further and further out from the beach and could not work out how to get myself turned around, or propel myself back toward shore. I don't know that I actually reached the shipping channel, but I remember watching the rocks on the Canadian side getting closer and wondering if I could just wait on the other side of the Bridge until my family came over to visit Splashdown and could pick me up. As it happened, somebody summoned a teenaged boy to swim out and tow me back. I didn't tell my mother this had happened until six or seven years later.)
When I was seven, a girl named Meghan moved in across the street, accompanied by her parents. They came from Canada (from far-off exotic Lambton!) and Meghan's mom was a nurse. She had no plans to apply for US citizenship, and continued to work in Canada, commuting back and forth across the Bridge every day. When summertime came, Meghan and her parents took me along to a family reunion on the far side of the bridge, at a park in Sarnia. Meghan and I ran around the park singing "I'm Proud to be an American," to annoy her Canadian relatives.
(Insert your own observation on how things change here)
A year or two later, my mom was the scout leader for my Junior scout troop, which included me and Meghan and the two other girls who lived on our block and were in our grade. One of the big annual events for Girl Scouts in our area was a Bridge Walk, where they would gather all the girl scouts in the county and we'd march across the Bridge to the nearest park - the same one where Meghan's relatives had had their reunion - where we would picnic and then be driven home. I think the idea was some sort of hands-across-borders international friendship thing, but I don't remember any Canadian scouts marching triumphantly across the Bridge in our direction, ever, so it's possible we were actually being trained to invade Canada.
So last nightiuliamentis and I are sitting on the couch, listening to Gord rant about killer whales, and Iulia says, "I wonder how often the Hip tour?"
Furious parallel tapping at laptops ensues, but Iulia beats me to the punch.
"Hmm," she says, "They're at the Molson Amphitheatre in Toronto on July 1st."
I boggle. "Is that, like, the most Canadian moment possible? The Hip playing the Molson in Toronto on Canada Day?"
Iulia shrugs, unfazed by the Canadianness. "They're playing Sarnia, too. July 17."
I boggle harder. "The Hip are playing Sarnia?" Good Lord. They might as well be playing my hometown.
"Yeah," she says, "Bayfest. At... hm... Centennial Park."
I almost fall off the couch with the force of my bogglement, and start gibbering about What Centennial Park Means to Me. But it's been way too long since I visited, so... July 17, eh?
We're going to see the Hip!
kelliem's Crossroads, in fact (yeah, I admit it, I squee for the Blue Water Bridge). The nearest water park to where I lived then was Splashdown, on the other side of the Bridge - so on exceptionally hot days or for summer rec field trips, it was off to Canada for the day. After all, Canada was only half an hour away (depending on Bridge traffic) and they had a water park.
(Funny story: A few days before the first time I was supposed to go to Splashdown, I went with a friend of mine to her grandmother's house, and her grandmother took us down to the beach, perhaps a mile upstream from the Bridge. I was about five or six, not a particularly strong swimmer, and was sitting in an inner tube. I started drifting further and further out from the beach and could not work out how to get myself turned around, or propel myself back toward shore. I don't know that I actually reached the shipping channel, but I remember watching the rocks on the Canadian side getting closer and wondering if I could just wait on the other side of the Bridge until my family came over to visit Splashdown and could pick me up. As it happened, somebody summoned a teenaged boy to swim out and tow me back. I didn't tell my mother this had happened until six or seven years later.)
When I was seven, a girl named Meghan moved in across the street, accompanied by her parents. They came from Canada (from far-off exotic Lambton!) and Meghan's mom was a nurse. She had no plans to apply for US citizenship, and continued to work in Canada, commuting back and forth across the Bridge every day. When summertime came, Meghan and her parents took me along to a family reunion on the far side of the bridge, at a park in Sarnia. Meghan and I ran around the park singing "I'm Proud to be an American," to annoy her Canadian relatives.
(Insert your own observation on how things change here)
A year or two later, my mom was the scout leader for my Junior scout troop, which included me and Meghan and the two other girls who lived on our block and were in our grade. One of the big annual events for Girl Scouts in our area was a Bridge Walk, where they would gather all the girl scouts in the county and we'd march across the Bridge to the nearest park - the same one where Meghan's relatives had had their reunion - where we would picnic and then be driven home. I think the idea was some sort of hands-across-borders international friendship thing, but I don't remember any Canadian scouts marching triumphantly across the Bridge in our direction, ever, so it's possible we were actually being trained to invade Canada.
So last night
iuliamentis and I are sitting on the couch, listening to Gord rant about killer whales, and Iulia says, "I wonder how often the Hip tour?" Furious parallel tapping at laptops ensues, but Iulia beats me to the punch.
"Hmm," she says, "They're at the Molson Amphitheatre in Toronto on July 1st."
I boggle. "Is that, like, the most Canadian moment possible? The Hip playing the Molson in Toronto on Canada Day?"
Iulia shrugs, unfazed by the Canadianness. "They're playing Sarnia, too. July 17."
I boggle harder. "The Hip are playing Sarnia?" Good Lord. They might as well be playing my hometown.
"Yeah," she says, "Bayfest. At... hm... Centennial Park."
I almost fall off the couch with the force of my bogglement, and start gibbering about What Centennial Park Means to Me. But it's been way too long since I visited, so... July 17, eh?
We're going to see the Hip!