RuralBeard

Finding myself in the big city of Toronto at the end of the 60’s threw me into a culture shock that I had not experienced prior to that move.  Living in the small towns throughout Nova Scotia didn’t really prepare me for much else other than the routine.  Nova Scotia, at that time, was pretty much a white province; any people of colour were pretty much living in their own communities, outside of any town or city.  Oh, of course that’s a generalization, but for me, as a young lad, I had no interaction with any peoples other than the WASPs and the WASRCs.  The latter group, the Catholics, were in the minority and from what I could discern, Protestants didn’t exactly care for them much, but there was a tolerance among peoples of both faiths.

And so it was, in 1968, our family left the insular environment of the Atlantic coast and headed to Ontario, the land of It’s All Happening Here.

My initial response to our move was instinctive; you go to school, meet new people, form temporary relationships and wait until the next posting.  As a Navy brat, I was used to moving; posts occurred every four years.

My first encounter with ‘different’ people came with the first school I attended.  It was in the northern burbs of Toronto.  The school was surrounded by, possibly, a park land so it felt rather familiar vis a vis coming from a rural background.  Inside, though, was an entirely difference story.

I encountered students who were black, students who were Asian and students who, while they looked like me in most ways, were Jewish.  What wonders there were in my new school.

My background in Nova Scotia was rife with prejudice, prejudice mostly against the black population, albeit mostly unseen.  To actually meet black students, who were not ostracized or run-out of school, was a refreshing thing for me to experience.  The ‘red-neck’ attitude I was brought up in did not ‘stick’ with me.  I couldn’t understand what the problem was really; they, the black people, just looked different and that was about all.

I guess the same went for the Asian students; different looking but other than that, everyone seemed to get along and no one really stood out as being something to hate or dislike.  No one at the school showed any prejudice at all. Except I did pick up on an odd hatred that left me wondering.

There were a small number of Jewish students at my school.  I kept hearing, from certain people, how they hated those Yids.  A bunch of – insert a nasty word here – money grubbing Jews; bunch of — words, words that didn’t mean anything to me since I had never encountered anyone Jewish.  A classmate pointed out Howard the Kike; said with a sneer and a tone of disgust.  Howard was about my height, had dark curly hair, a fair completion and, like me, a slight build.  I looked at him.  Looked at him and wondered, what am I not seeing?  Why is he, or the other Jews, someone whom I should hate, dislike or feel disgust.  I couldn’t understand it.  I couldn’t see the difference.

Soon enough, I realized that in the big city, in the city of multi-cultures, not everything, or everyone is as they seem.