Mosaic or Messed Up?

They call our society a cultural mosaic which I think is interesting, especially when my own background is a wee bit of a mosaic itself. I'm half Dutch and half Canadian. . . and some portion Scottish. I guess that doesn't make much of a mosaic, but hey, it's what makes me me.

Unlike myself, I have friends who are completely from one background or another. Quite a few are of Scottish descent, not hard to tell what with their last names like Mc this or Mac that, and then there's their penchant for plaid. Others are definitely English with fine hardy English names to back them up. Others are completely Dutch, with the blue eyes and blonde hair to prove it and usually a name that looks unpronounceable. Me, on the other hand, can't really prove one thing or the other. Am I from column A or column B?

When I was growing up it was always fun to have our Dutch relatives visit with us.
During one visit our cousin actually thought that he might be able to teach my dad how to count in Dutch. . . sadly none of his teachings were retained by his avid student. My sister and I, on the other hand, have learned some very important words that I'm sure will be the key to our success in life. For instance, we know the words for such things as, mom, dad, grandmother, grandfather, spoon, notepad, marble and the ever catchy phrase "It doesn't matter whether you say it or you crap it, it won't make a difference." Trust me, it sounds much more impressive in Frisian. Yeah, I said Frisian. Frisian is a language spoken in Holland but it's nothing like Dutch. Frisian people understand Dutch but only because that is the official language of Holland. People who know Dutch, on the other hand, do not necessarily understand Frisian. And apparently it is predicted that this language will eventually become extinct. Now you can begin to see why my heritage is such a mosaic.

Just thinking about what smattering of the Dutch culture I did receive while growing up brings back memories of embarrassing moments from grade school. I can remember being the only dork in my class that referred to an undershirt as a hempie. For the longest time I didn't realize that the two were one and the same. I know what you're thinking, "How often does the topic of undershirts come up in a grade school conversation?" Frankly, once is enough to make a lasting impression.

I recently forced some of my Dutch background on my husband, who is of Irish-Canadian/Serbian descent. I cooked up a decidedly Dutch dish, called borenkool. I must say it was amusing to watch him chomp down the green and white entree. It's one of my favourite childhood meals, and it's made with potatoes, kale and a couple of tasty sausages (oh and don't forget the dill pickles. . . yum!). My husband did his best to applaud this new culinary delight but I have a feeling that he may never be able to appreciate borenkool the way I do. I think if given the choice Marko would have loved to have given his scraps to the dog if we had a dog.

Fortunately we don't own a dog. If we did I think the dog would develop a complex of considerable proportion. After owning my grandparents' dog which would only respond to Frisian commands, I naturally try to communicate with all dogs in Frisian. Could you imagine it?! The dog just ripped up a family heirloom and I'm yelling at it in Frisian while Marko is calling to it in some Serbo-Croatian/English garble. If you must know, friends of ours own a dog and I have had to consciously stop myself from using Frisian with their dog.

Now as far as my Scottish background goes, it turns out that there is a tartan for my maiden name. But again it can't be just normal, it's odd as well. Its called the Hope-Vere tartan. This is a tartan that even though I live in an area mostly settled by Scots, you will never see any bookmarks or magnets with this tartan on it. I've only seen a picture of it in a book. . . go figure. My Dad was interested enough in his heritage to send away for a plastic plaque with Hope on it and other emblems that go along with this most Scottish name.

Then of course there is my Canadian heritage, how do I know that I'm Canadian? Well, I talk about weather on a daily basis with total strangers, I enjoy a good beaver tail (which, by the way, is a uniquely Canadian pastry, and not the actual tail of our national animal) and of course I love hockey. And who could ignore the fact that I was born here and have lived here all my life?

So I'm Dutch-Frisian-Scottish-Canadian and I'm married to a Serbian-Irish- Canadian. I don't have to look further than my own home to find a plethora of culture and heritage. Yet, I am left wondering what kind of fun our children will have as they grow up as a part of the mosaic.