Chinese in Niagara Falls ON

In 1959, I was in grade 2 – seven years old. That’s the time when a child can still be delighted in small things and is not yet too self-conscious to reveal pleasure. Moreover, winter season encompasses Christmas, a time of giving gifts. My story is about a gift. By the time I was in grade 2, I had had ample opportunity to be taught by school, books, and TV what Christmas in the USA (and by association Canada) should look like, should feel like, and know how Christmas in my Chinatown home looked nothing like that. If I had any thought that these lessons on Christmas festivity were only a myth, I could walk down Queen Street and see these very symbols of Christmas cheer displayed in many store windows. At his restaurant, my father hung wreaths that resembled bottlebrush bristles dyed green then frosted and twisted into circles before being fastened with red ribbon. A string of shiny letters that spelt out “Merry Christmas” adorned the wall above the coffee urns. In c...