Toronto was the first place I’d lived where political leaders made me feel welcome. When I was growing up in Quebec, governments closed my English school, banned English signs, and expropriated the asbestos mines where my dad worked. From there I went to Calgary, where the mayor at the time, Ralph Klein, called the many eastern Canadians moving there “bums and creeps” and told us to go back where we came from. One way that I coped with my outsider status was to hide parts of myself, such as my Englishness in Quebec, or my eastern-Canadian sympathies in Alberta. Imagine my pleasant surprise when Toronto’s civic leaders merely shrugged at newcomers like me. My days of hiding were over. 

But over time, I learned that Torontonians had their own ways of categorizing people: by where they lived and how much they earned. When Chris and I had been pals back in Calgary, I’d had an inkling that his parents were well-off, but neither of us had given money much thought. That all changed in Toronto. Pricey real estate and my dad’s post-asbestos career troubles pushed my family out to the suburbs of Scarborough, known for its endless rows of tract housing and strip malls. The downtown kids called it Scarberia. 

COMING SOON to New Pop Lit!