Memories From My Childhood

Today, my family and I spent the day skiing. As I watched my children on the slopes, laughing and enjoying themselves, I couldn't help but think about my own childhood.

Like most children of immigrants, I never had such luxuries. When all the other kids at school would talk about skiing and snowshoeing, me and the other kids of immigrant parents would go quiet. To fit in, sometimes we would lie and pretend our families did things like that as well.

Summers weren't much different. When we'd go back to school in the fall, we'd hear stories from our friends about camping, hiking, swimming at the lake and other things that sounded amazing and exotic to our young minds. We'd take stock of our own summer vacations and come to the depressing conclusion that the biggest event we got was a sleepover at a cousin's place or a trip to a park.

As new immigrants, the vast majority of our parents didn't have much money. On the west coast of Canada, most dads worked in lumber mills, putting in 12 hour shifts and coming home exhausted every evening. Our moms held odd jobs, working in various types of factories or vegetable farms, knitting sweaters, and picking blueberry in the summer under the sweltering sun - all for minimum wage, and all while running the household.

We did take the odd road trip, but it was usually strategically planned by our parents to a city where we had relatives so we didn't need to spend money on a hotel. Once a year, we'd go somewhere fun, usually somewhere like a fair or festival. Instead of indulging in the food such attractions are so famous for, we'd angrily have to settle for the stuff our mom cooked and diligently wrapped in wax paper and tin foil that morning - something traditional, which we had every other day of the week.

We'd get a treat like McDonald's for playing real well in sports or getting an "A" in school. Even then, our parents would tell us not to order pop or fries. Why buy that stuff when we had it at home? On really special occasions, our parents would splurge and order pizza. Dinners with friends didn't mean catering or outings to a favourite restaurant; they meant getting together at someone’s house, with our moms slaving away in the kitchen to cook enough food for everyone.

The point is, our parents didn't have much, but they did the best they could to make our childhoods memorable. They tried hard to help us experience the some of delights the other kids did, even if it was in a very different way.

Sure, we didn't get to ski, snowshoe, camp, hike or spend our summers at lakes.

Granted we didn't take grand vacations or eat at trendy restaurants.

As an adult, I realize those things didn't matter....the memories we made while doing them were what was important. When measured in this manner, our childhoods were full of riches. The laughs, the smiles, the tears - they made for a unique experience that shaped us into who we are. This experience is what makes me grateful for everything that I have. It is what fills my heart with emotion every time I think of the lengths my parents went to to make my life full of great adventures. I may not have appreciated it then, but I do now.

So, today, as I watched my kids ski and beam with joy, I thought back to my childhood and did the same, letting the memories made from all those great times warm my heart on this cold winter day.