When I was a child growing up in Winnipeg, the literal center of Canada, we had a mantra we would sometimes chant on the playground:

Hey hey get out of my way
I just got back from the U-S-A

That was half a century ago, and I suspect this ditty has fallen into disuse. But its original intent was to show off some swagger, some strength, some chutzpah. Or maybe to scare someone a little bit.

I am a dual citizen. Canadian, because I was born, raised, and began my career in Canada. American, because I’ve spent most of my adult life in San Francisco, forming deep relationships and raising an extraordinary child. When that child became a teenager, I decided to become a citizen of his home country too. Obama, the most Canadian of US presidents, had just won his second term. What could go wrong?

O Canadian. How naive thou art.

I think back to my arrival. The American Dream held no attraction for me. I thought I was moving to the city of San Francisco. But the longer I stayed, the more I realized that I was living in the U-S-A. Now fear grips me hard. “Go north,” whispers the voice in my head. “Everything you’re marching for is already there!”

It’s so cold in Canada. Frozen cold, we called it when we were kids.

Frozen cold but not frozen solid. Not anymore. The economy of Canada is tied to the depletion of the country’s natural beauty. Tied even tighter to its large and capricious neighbor. And no one there seemed that worried about it until recently. Even though Canada sits between the US and Russia and the Arctic Ocean is melting and underneath there’s oil -

When I go back I’m conscious of being impatient. Anxious. American.

I am a citizen of two places and a resident of one. I am loyal but  not to a queen, nor a flag. I pledge allegiance to a topography. To hills and bridges and flowers and fog. To the San Francisco that is woven into my stories and therefore my dreams.

Part of this essay was originally part of another, titled “San Francisco Gives The Best Hugs”.