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On my Mother’s side, two of my cousins have a parent of Italian descent; most of my maternal cousins and their offspring are American also of Filipino descent, located from West Coast California to East Coast New York, with many of them over the pond in Chicago. My maternal cousins and my siblings are scattered over three continents and maybe four or five countries. My parents and the majority of my mother’s sisters and brothers, immigrated to Canada and the US as doctors and nurses, in the 1960s. Children of immigrants (i.e. those born in Europe and North America) do not have “foreign” accents… and, over the past three or four or more decades, I have sensed this momentary shock from fellow Canadians who meet me for the first time, surprised at how I effortlessly respond in either official language… as if it takes them a few seconds to remember that one does not have to be Caucasian to be Canadian. Like how many times have I been approached in Base gyms where men have asked me what country I am from… like this is not the US… you actually have to be a Canadian citizen to serve in the Canadian military. And I remember being on a military college bus, where all members of my university Military & Strategic Studies program dressed in our #4 navy blue parade dress, sat in our military pickle on our way to tour Fort Ticonderoga… and I remember the anger in me when the American border agent boarded our bus, looked around, and only asked for the papers of the black officer cadet and the oriental-looking officer cadet. I looked at the guy and said “We do have colored people in Canada and one has to be Canadian to serve in the Canadian Military,” and my professor, who was the Colonel-Commandant of the famous Blackwatch Regiment, while feeling embarrassed for me, put his hand on my shoulder and under his breath said “Please give him what he wants.”

I have read a number of articles over the years on the psychological impact/benefit on children who have mothers that work outside the home during a child’s formative years (i.e. not the 1950s “Father Knows Best” scenario). For males, it tends to influence how they eventually respect women, how they regard females as equals. For females, it tends to affect relationships, especially where confidence and self-worth are concerned; how they value themselves and the levels of treatment and mistreatment they are willing to put up with; what they understood as normal. I grew up awakened in darkness by the sound of my mother preparing herself to work at The Montreal Children’s Hospital, together with the sounds of my father in the kitchen preparing her coffee, and eventually the sound of the car engine driven by my father departing to drive my mother over the Champlain Bridge and then onto the island of Montreal. My mother did twelve hour shifts maybe five times a week. Days could go by where we did not have breakfast, lunch or supper with her. That was a normal for many of the children my parents socialized with. Interesting thought about equality… I doubt my Mother would be excited that her hard work had any influence on my seemingly tomboyish childhood where I detested dresses and hard, shiny black shoes (my brothers got to wear jeans and running shoes which allowed them to climb trees and monkey bars better); I engaged in fist fights with my brothers (not often, but we sometimes got on each other’s nerves); I saved up money to buy a really un-girly BMX; I dirtied my clothes looking for frogs and crayfish; and I played every neighbourhood and school sport possible because we did not have enough money to afford city sports or summer camps. Looking back, I no longer consider myself a tomboy… perhaps a feminist demanding the same opportunities the males had. I remember not even liking the word “feminist” as a high schooler and as a university student in military college, because my understanding of the word was likely tainted by the comments of boys and men, referring to feminism as “females who complain too much.”

I find films that enlighten the audience on cultures fascinating. I busted my gut the first time I saw “My Big Fat Greek Wedding,” and enjoyed Bollywood’s “Bride and Prejudice.” I sympathized with some of my classmates and their parents after watching “Joy, Luck Club,” and I thought of my cousins’ Christmas celebrations after watching “Mambo Italiano.” I wanted to go shoe shopping after watching “Kinky Boots.” They all touch on some form of diversity… issues of racism, sexism, or hatred against the LGBQ community. I have not had much time as a mother to see the Canadian sitcoms that offer a window into various Canadian cultures, but it is a change from the 1970s when the only colour I remember on Television was the “Sesame Street” puppets, the “Muppet Show” muppets, Sesame Street’s Gordon, Susan, Luis and Maria; Bill Cosby hosting “Picture Pages,” or Bill Cosby voicing all the characters of the animated “Fat Albert;” and then as I was allowed to stay up late, the issues of racism and bigotry addressed in “Archie Bunker,” or “The Jefferson’s.” I remember being livid in the 1990s when American parents wanted to ban Ernie and Bert, because they were two males living together… maybe because Ernie and Bert were yellow and orange… because I do not recall any protests related to Lavergne living with Shirley. I think we need more of it (not the Jello or date rape part, just the culturally diverse aspects). I think “Star Trek” addressed this issue many times (not just the red guy always getting killed just like the black guy dies in the first four minutes of most movies), including the USS Enterprise’s Captain Kirk highlighting, during one of the early motion pictures, the human default to fear and demonize what we don’t know, just like societies in the time when Magellan circumnavigated the seas, believing the earth was flat and that treacherous monsters lived beyond the horizon. The more we open our minds, the less there is to fear… who would have thought in the 1980s that “Doctor Who” would ever be a woman or that “Captain Marvel” could be a shero that could single-handedly destroy space armadas, or that the female lead of the classic “A Wrinkle In Time,” could be a black girl?

I grew up in “a village,” perhaps psychologically like that usually described in pre-colonial aboriginal communities. Families of Filipino descent usually gathered with each other on weekends since they shared a common experience: travelling across the globe away from everything they have known to earn a living; and quickly learning the relationship of snow and winter parkas. Consequently, their children (and even now as adults) call all their elders the age of their parents the equivalent of “Auntie” and “Uncle,” even if there is no blood relation. There is still “mano’” (bringing an elder’s hand, someone the age of one’s grandparents, to one’s forehead, as a sign of respect; veneration). I used to wonder as a child how there could be poverty in the Philippines when Filipinos were always eating. Even now, when my parents welcome my family or friends, they do not say “Hi,” they always say “Are you hungry?” Going to a Filipino party is an ongoing food fest where one never has to worry about medical attention since most of the adults in the room are doctors or nurses. I do not think my brothers and I ever dated the children of my parents’ friends because we considered them, and still do consider them, extended family… and almost five decades later, they continue, or their memories continue, to be a part of the lives of my parents, my siblings and my family.

Before the pandemic was declared a pandemic, I flew to California to gather with some of my cousins from whatever corners of the world we reside, so we could stand with two of our California cousins mourning the untimely death of my uncle… or maybe it was timely… because as a doctor, I believe he would have been disgusted with how his country is handling the pandemic. Perhaps his wife, also a doctor, also died at the right time… because had she lived a few more weeks, she would have been in shock and disbelief at the thought of people hating the world so much, they would drive planes full of innocent people into buildings with innocent people, igniting military action and domestic attacks on brown people. Recently, Asian-and-Aboriginal-looking people seem to be targeted/blamed for the pandemic. And now fires burn and millions march because no one did anything significant but blackball the football player who peacefully took a knee in protest.

My heart again thinks of some of my cousins tonight, more so than the past few weeks when I have been hoping that more people take precautions in order to lessen the load people like my cousins have to face in hospitals helping patients battle CoViD-19. I see on the news medical personnel renting campers or seeking garage living arrangements to protect their families from catching the virus… and sometimes I think evil thoughts… sort of wishing that all those racist supporters who protest with assault rifles without wearing masks and who never get arrested, protest some more and spread the virus amongst themselves and win the Darwin Awards… So it hurts somewhat to know that my cousin, who is another cousin nurse, takes whatever precautions to protect her family, and one would think most nurses and doctors would do the same… but the nurse who took care of the in-laws living with my cousin, unknowingly carried the virus… which took the life of my cousin’s mother-in-law a few days ago and put her father-in-law in incubation, but not without infecting her husband, herself, and possibly their children. There is a bit of a helplessness in not being able to do what seems natural: gathering, caring and mourning with loved ones who remain.

So there are a lot of things going around that kill… SARS-CoV-2, racism, conjugal violence against women and children, rape, violent attacks against non-heterosexuals. The good news is that we each have some form of control. We control how open minded we can be. We control how much we embrace diversity. We control how we raise our daughters to take as much risk as the levels we encourage our sons to take. We control how we react to our sons’ treatment of their sisters and female classmates. We control the example we set in how much kindness and respect we accord to anyone we interact with, and we control our actions to call out those who hurt others. We also control whether we follow guidelines to socially distance and keep our hands clean.

Wishing you and your loved ones a healthy and wonderful week. Wishing you the strength to be the leaders the world needs right now.