An Old Quilt

Diversity is the one true thing we all have in common... Celebrate it every day.
                                    -    Sir Winston Churchill

I am Canadian by birth, but I was born to portuguese parents, who left the little island of Terceira in the early 70's.  They moved to Canada like so many others before them, with very little belongings, a suitcase or two, some money, and some keepsakes, not very many things. What they did take along with them, in limitless amounts, was memories, stories, and tradtions.

The first house I remember living in, not the one I was actually born in though, was in Toronto. We shared it with my paternal grandparents, who had immigrated to the USA, then joined us in Canada. I lived in Toronto, for about 6 years, on the outside our house was a suburban, canadian house, just like any other on Robinson Street, but inside, we were raised portuguese, in every sense of the word. Our food was portuguese, our music was portuguese, we only spoke portuguese. When I started school, I did not even speak english, my very first report card says, " Diana is very friendly, obeys all class rules, but speaks very little english".... All of our gatherings were with family, usually on friday or saturday nights, where stories would be told, mostly because I believe they were all so very homesick. In the background, there was always music, my avô Constantino, played the mandoline, always singing a happy  tune. So many of these gatherings were on holidays, only ever celebrated in the Azores. All Saints Day, St. Martins Day, Carnaval, even making wine was cause for celebration. All of these were their own traditons, they had brought with them, and like with any memory, there is always a certain food involved.  Corn, chestnuts, filhozes, all of which became part of my own memories, and now part of my own tradtions with my own family. There was a turning point though, I believe once we started school, things changed, my family was introduced to a whole different range of Canadian celebrations, and traditions. All of which we gladly participated in, Thanksgiving, Pancake Day, Valentines Day, and Halloween. My sister and I would wait for my father to get home, and he would take us "trick or treating". Our costumes were homemade,  we were usually dressed up, in what I lovingly, call "portuguese gypsies", skirts, head scarves, little aprons and baskets. How exciting to go out, door to door, while our father waited and watched from the sidewalk. My parents could have, amongest themselves, decided, that, we should not participate,this being something new and foreign to them. Thankfully, this was not the case, they embraced, every new tradition, by letting us participate, and more often than not giving it a portuguese twist........and I am all the better for it.

Fast forward, many years ahead,in the late 90's, I move to the very island they once left, with my own bags, and my own celebrations, memories and tradtions, that are made up of the best of both worlds. Now Mr. G and I have our own family, and the shoe is almost certainly on the other foot. He is portuguese, born and raised on the island, with his own set of family memories and childhood traditons, and then me, a mixture of Canadian and Portuguese influences. Throw our three children into the mix,  as a family, what do you carry on as tradition, what do you choose as celebration. Quite frankly, we celebrate both of our tradtions. Like putting together a patchwork quilt, with many tiny squares of colorful fabric, and we stitch them one by one. The result is a beautiful quilt, of many diverse colors, just like our own stories, our own memories, our own traditions.  Our children as a result of this,are very blessed I believe, be able to partake, in both sides. They love thanksgiving, a holiday not even celebrated here on the island, just as much as they love Carnaval.  They participate in Halloween, all dreesed up with their costumes, and wait for Mr. G to take them out, just like I waited for my father. The following day on All saints day, a portuguese holiday, we will go to the cemetery and leave some flowers for Emma, and then they will go door to door, asking for "pão por Deus" ( bread in the name of God), just like Mr. G did when he was a little boy. Very diverse traditions, from different cultures, but all with a common thread, family, love. A mother who bakes cookies, a father who comes home from a long day of work, a grandmother who stitches together a little bag, these are done with love. Tradtions, do not stand on their own, they cannot, be simply written or spoken as such, they will not have legs to stand on. Children may not always, listen, but they most certainly watch, those little eyes are always watching us, adding truth to, actions speak louder, then words.

When the time comes, and our children  go off into the big world, with their own bag of memories and tradtions. It will be up to them, which ones will remain favorite tradtions, and which ones will become very fond memories.  Either way, they will have everyone one of them, saved, just like an old quilt, beautiful to look at, but still capable of providing warmth, on a cold winters night.