I haven’t lived in Canada for some time, but not a day goes by when being Canadian isn’t a core part of my identity—a source of pride and a responsibility to represent well. Strangely, I feel this more now, looking in from the outside, than I ever did while living there.
I spend my days among people of many origins. The identity we share isn’t tied to a single flag; together, we represent many. Yet our community is strong, shaped by something deeper—respect, understanding, shared purpose. Our cultural and national backgrounds weave into this fabric, creating something distinct and meaningful. And in this, I feel more Canadian every day.
Each of us stands out for where we come from. And like them, I embody what my flag represents. In that way, we are all ambassadors, and our differences make our community stronger.
So let’s fly our flag, Canada. Let’s feel pride as others do. We—and they—have every right. Let’s celebrate what makes us distinct, important, and amazing. And let’s share the best of ourselves with those around us who are doing the same.
Most importantly, let’s be steadfast, confident, yet open and respectful. Community isn’t neat and tidy—it’s a beautiful mess that demands sacrifice and understanding. Wherever we are from, we should approach it the same way. It’s worth it.
Language is more than a tool for communication; it is the lens through which we perceive, interpret, and engage with the world. Traditionally, a “first language” is considered the one we acquire from birth, often termed the “mother tongue.” However, my experiences have led me to a more nuanced understanding: a first language is the medium through which an individual learns to define the world in its entirety, tailored to their unique needs and capacities.
Personal Journey: A Tapestry of Languages and Perspectives
My relationship with language has never been linear. Born into a Friulan family, my earliest linguistic immersion was in Friulan and Italian. These languages were not just modes of communication but carriers of history, culture, and identity.
As I grew older, English became my dominant language, shaping much of my academic and intellectual development. Yet, the echoes of my early linguistic experiences remained, subtly influencing my worldview in ways I would only come to fully appreciate later.
At the age of 23, I embarked on the journey of learning Japanese. While I have yet to master reading, the years spent engaging with the language have granted me access to an entirely distinct cultural and philosophical framework. Learning Japanese was not just about acquiring vocabulary or grammar—it was about embracing a new way of perceiving relationships, time, and existence itself.
What makes this experience profound is the way these linguistic influences interact. The Friulan and Italian roots of my childhood, the academic and intellectual grounding in English, and the philosophical insights gained through Japanese all intertwine, shaping how I understand and navigate the world. Language, in this sense, is not a fixed point in time but an evolving, living entity that grows with me.
Educational Implications: Embracing Linguistic Fluidity
In my professional journey as an educator, this redefinition of “first language” has profound implications. Recognizing that students may find their truest expression in languages other than their initial one challenges the conventional structures of language education. It becomes imperative to create learning environments that honor and integrate this linguistic fluidity.
As an educator, I encourage students to engage with content in the language they feel most connected to, even if it’s not the primary language of instruction. This approach has led to deeper comprehension and more authentic self-expression. By validating their linguistic choices, we not only enhance academic outcomes but also foster a sense of identity and belonging.
Furthermore, acknowledging that a person’s first language—the one that defines their world—is not necessarily the one they first spoke challenges traditional assessments of fluency and proficiency. It suggests that language education should be about more than just mechanics; it should be about fostering meaningful connections between language, thought, and personal growth.
Human Development: Language as an Evolving Companion
Understanding language as a dynamic entity that evolves with an individual underscores its role in human development. As we navigate different phases of life, the languages that best articulate our experiences may change. Embracing this evolution allows for a more holistic approach to personal growth.
Reflecting on my own life, there were periods where Italian and Friulan connected me to my familial and cultural roots, where English became the medium of intellectual exploration, and where Japanese provided a bridge to new ways of thinking. Each language has served as a companion, aiding me in defining and redefining my world.
A Call for Open-Mindedness in Language Perception
Redefining “first language” to encompass the language that best allows an individual to define their world challenges us to move beyond rigid classifications. It invites educators, policymakers, and individuals to recognize and honor the fluid nature of language in personal and collective development. By doing so, we not only enrich our educational paradigms but also deepen our understanding of the intricate tapestry of human experience.
You might think I am about to set out on a little self-reflection to peer into the very depths of my soul to uncover the essence of who I am. No. I won’t take you down that road. Quite the opposite. In recent months, however, I have discovered something that is, at least for me, quite significant.
I have always been fascinated by ancient navigators’ abilities to use what is effectively a ruler with a protractor stuck to it to its edge to determine their position on the earth using stars as distant anchor points. While I get the the concept, it has largely been through faith rather than scientific understanding. I have not, even to this day, understood clearly how that simple act results in the navigational accuracy required to find their way home from the midst of distant oceans without any other form or feature in sight. For me, the skill has always held a modicum of magic to complete the formula and to satisfy fleeting curiosity that wanes before I can reach any point of truly wanting to “get it.”
Then, one night, not so long ago, while admiring a spectacular full moon, perhaps the Blood Wolf Super Moon (or some such modern popular version of the same), it suddenly occurred to me: The Moon! Now, while I still can’t understand the entire mechanics and use of the sextant, I have discovered the ability to determine my approximate position on the planet with one simple act: looking at the Moon.
In that one moment of understanding I suddenly understood not only where I was, but also the position of the sun, the directional spin of the earth, the direction of pending sunrise, and the directions of the poles. Though at present, without a visible Moon, I would likely remain lost. With it visible, not only do I find myself able to determine my position, but the very nature of a spherical earth in orbit around a sun becomes, not only clear, but obviously so. Cheers Galileo! Yes. Simply look at the moon. Yes. It seems it may really be that simple.
If this is obvious to you, forgive me. To me it was, and is, a revelation, and a significant one. While perhaps it is obvious to everyone, and while perhaps it may not have expanded my actual horizons, it has clearly highlighted them and brought them into more clarity for me. The best part of it, and with apologies to those whose who simply cannot see, I must repeat: the only thing it requires is to look at the Moon.
Here’s how it works.
On any night under skies that permit you to see the Moon, simply look at it to determine the portion that is visible (acknowledgement of which had previously been the extent of my considerations). Then make one further (albeit ridiculously obvious) consideration: what makes it visible? Light, of course. But, from where? The Sun, of course! That portion that is visible is due to sunlight. The invisible portion completes the sphere, but remains hidden in the darkness on the side opposite to the sun. Until that particular night, I had acknowledged the Moon in two dimensions only, from a thin croissant lo the full lunar disk, and back again. Not because I could not perceive it as otherwise. Perhaps simply because I had never given it further thought. What I had never done was to consider WHY I could see it, and WHAT that implied. Enter the Sun (or at least it’s light). The key for me was exactly that. If the visible part of the Moon was due to sunlight, then the sun must be shining upon it. And while apparently it shone from some point not visible to me, it did so from a direction that lit the Moon in that particular way at that particular time. And so, I began to consider a flashlight shining on an orange, and from which direction that light had to be shone in order to replicate the lit part of the Moon as I saw it on any given night.
What happened then was, again for me, a revelation: suddenly, two dimensional considerations became three dimensional. The moon no longer appeared to be a bright flat shape in the sky. Instead, I began to see it as a sphere, lit from the direction that would allow it to be lit as it was, and its position was relative to that of the vantage point I occupied at that moment. Triangulation?
Just like that, I was seeing it all in three dimensions. And since then, I have never been able to see otherwise.
That being a few months ago, fast forward to this morning. For some slightly odd reason I decided to begin my day, in the dark, at 5am. When I stepped outside briefly to check on the kind of day that was approaching, I looked up. There it was. The Moon. It was a perfect bright (and beautiful) crescent, curved to the left. I immediately thought (since I appear now to not be able to escape this tendency), “Where’s the light coming from?” And with that snap, the Moon became an orange with a flashlight pointing at it from somewhere outside of my field of view. That somewhere else had to be far behind and to the left of it, and on the other side of the Earth itself, in order to create the crescent shape I witnessed. In reality, what appeared to be a crescent was simply the visible edge of a full Moon should I have been able to see it from the same position as the obstructed source of the light shining upon it. And so, again, the entire spectacle became three dimensional to accommodate all of that.
And once again, there I was, standing in a system of the Moon, Sun, and my own vantage on Earth.
And then it occurred to me, if I can see that much, what other conclusions might I be able to draw from it.
The first questions that followed involved sunlight itself. If it was creating that particular shape on the Moon, then wouldn’t the same be true of its impact on the Earth? And if the Sun indeed rises in the East, then which direction would the Earth be spinning in relation to me? And if the Earth were spinning in that direction, that spin would be along the North-South axis… so the realizations followed quickly: North would be… THAT way (quickly confirmed by my trusty iPhone compass). And if so, then the tilt of the crescent would be equal to the tilt of the earth, putting the Sun, roughly, about… over THERE! And if that were the case, and if I were standing on the earth, in the dark, at that particular angle, that would place me about, HERE! in relation to the equator and the poles. Expanding and extrapolating in kind, I was able to determine my relative position to the whole system.
And again, there I was, standing in a system, in motion, that included the Moon, the Sun, and my own vantage on Earth.
One simple realization months ago has changed the way I see all of this, and as a consequence it has made me feel part of something much vaster than what my own limited field of view could previously ever accommodate. And who knows, someday, it might actually help me find my way home.
The one thing I know for certain: The experience taught me that rocks, like ideas, fit together when they’re supposed to. Not before, and not later.
I know this. I recall the endless pickup-truck-loads of stones and small boulders that I collected and placed into neat piles in front of the trenches from which his walls grew.
From there, one by one, the rocks, small, large, fractured, twisted, flat, round, bulbous, angular, metamorphic, granite, white, red, green, and black, all eventually grew into something so randomly symmetrical, defined, purposeful, and everlasting.
With each placement, each rock was assessed by its value and contribution to each space that came available. And often (always?) that meant that in the entire field of rock piles I assembled, there was most often only one that could and would accomplish the solution being sought. And then again, sometimes not, requiring another trip in the progressively pockmarked little red Ford pickup.
And yet, when each wall was complete, and the stone piles were exhausted to pebbles; each one of them, and finally each pebble too, found its place, in the exact spot and with the exact purpose that only it could fulfill.
Like ideas. Like plans. Like goals and accomplishments. Nothing is without purpose, meaning, and value. Nothing does not have its place. What did rocks teach me? Simple. Truth and meaning are realized when seemingly disparate things find the purposes inherent to each of them as parts of a greater and successful whole.
And I guess that’s Choco! So a little introduction is in order.
Choco was a cross Golden Retriever and Weimaraner, playfully, or officially, or perhaps both, known as a Goldmaraner. He will forever remain amongst the best friends I have been fortunate to have in my life. I’m not sure if I deserved the unconditional love and dedication he demonstrated for pretty much every moment of his life. Nevertheless, I received it. That energy will inspire me forever. And so, Choco is my muse.
He was born on the 30th of November, 2007 and passed away of natural causes on September 21st, 2022.
What was he like? Well, the smile should say it all.
