I wanted to share a personal experience with all you Whyvillians, and preach a little too, but first I think you'll need to know a little about my background.

I'm Canadian. And I'm proud. Being Canadian is a part of me, like being really tall and how I love to bake. And, naturally, being in Canada has exposed me to many, many different cultures. Specifically, in my area of the GTA (Greater Toronto Area, which is an area of a bunch of cities outside of Toronto) has led me to encounter many Indian, South-Asian and Middle-Eastern backgrounds.

Me? I'm Newfoundlander, and Estonian. (Estonia is a very small country in Europe.) Mainly, Caucasian. Very Caucasian.

During the last few years, I've had a little bigotry lay inside me, and my experiences in my city did nothing to help my growing prejudice. It's awful, but understandable, as I could barely understand half of my English teachers and cashiers at my favorite stores who were otherworldly in their accents. And now, thinking back, I apologize to everyone who has ever been a victim of prejudice, because when I was snappy or grumpy towards others, it was downright wrong.

This all changed one day, this year in the middle of grade 9. On my birthday, actually, March 9th, 2006. That day, a few of my friends and I went on a school snowboarding trip and spent the day at a ski/snowboard resort flying down hills and falling more than we ought to. We arrived back at our school around 5 o'clock p.m.

As my parents were busy that night, I had to call a cab to drive me home. 15 minutes later, I was in the bright yellow car, eagerly anticipating the cake and presents I would get after the 20-minute drive home.

This drive changed my attitude for a long time.

My cab driver's skin was brown - that was all I had really noticed. I could barely understand his accent, and a long day on the slopes had made me a little irritable. I snapped my address and he simply nodded. Less than 30 seconds later, we weren't even out of the parking lot yet, he started a conversation. (Remember, there were quite a few "What?"'s and "Huh?"'s from me, and since this was a while ago the conversation may be a little altered,. But most of it is there.)

Cab Driver: School trip?
Me: Uh, yeah. We were skiing.
Cab Driver: Skiing?
Me: Yeah.
Driver: What is skiing?
Me: (I said skeptically) You know . . . you stand on a board and ride down a snow-covered hill.
Driver: Oh, I see. I am new to Canada. Yes? There is lots of snow. I came a month ago.
Me: Cool.

Then, his phone rang. He spoke in another language for about five minutes, and promptly hung up. Our conversation continued.

Cab Driver: That was my friend. He arrived in Canada a week ago. He is having trouble finding a job, so I told him I would try and make him a driver.
Me: Oh.
Cab Driver: You see, I used to teach college.
Me: What?! Wow!
Cab Driver: Yes, I have a master's degree in mathematics and engineering. I taught for many years in India. And I came to Canada to make a better life for my family. There I was a professor, here I am . . .

Here he broke off. I know, it sounds cheesy; but I saw the hurt in his eyes. A distinguished professor leaving his whole life to come to another continent. He left his job, his friends, and his education, all to come to this strange world full of snappy teenagers and cold snow. Now he has to swallow his pride and become a cab driver, taxiing those snappy teenagers through the cold snow to support the people he made this decision for.

Pause for a second, before reading on, and let that sink in. This man used to have a career. A job to be proud of! Now, as he paused with that look on his face and the hollow clear of his eyes, he only had a friend and a family who had less than him in a lonely world.

Needless to say, I went home and cried. I sat in my room, on my birthday, and cried and cried. There I was, with a great home, parents, Internet service and free time to go sliding down hills on a little board, being prejudice against one of the best men I have ever met. He doesn't know it, but he changed my life, along with my attitude.

Every time I wait in line behind a man with a heavy accent counting his change or a woman with a hijab or a sari, I silently think to myself how lucky I am to live in a country that people would give up their lives to come to. And how that accented woman probably has a PhD in pediatrics. :) Well, it could happen, you never know.

Loving my neighbor, and encouraging all Whyville citizens to do the same,
Icyfairy.

P.S. I apologize for the long article, everybody. :)