Melting Pot

"Did you get that 'melting pot' stuff ol' Perkins was talkin' about? What does that mean?"

Billy is my best friend. Ol' Perkins is our History teacher. And I think I understood what she meant by "melting pot."

"A melting pot is, like, a pot that you put a bunch of different stuff in. Maybe different kinds of metal. Then you heat it up, and all the stuff melts together into one glob."

"Yeah, so what does that have to do with history?" Billy asked, not unreasonably.

"It's like one of them figures of speech," I explained. "You know? It means that people come here from all over the world, from different countries with different languages and religions and things. But in the end, all of them belong to our country, and we're all kind of the same. My dad says it's what makes our country great."

"But we shouldn't let everyone in," said Billy. "Not the ones from the shit-hole countries. That's what my dad says. Especially that shit-hole country south of us."

I cringed. I was a little shocked. But also a little excited. "My dad would have a fit if he heard me talk like that. He would say, 'Language! We do not refer to our neighbors like that!"

Billy snickered. "My dad talks like that all the time," he said. "He says their country doesn't send us their best. He says they're murderers and rapists."

"I don't know," i replied. "I know they're poor and ... and backwards. And they don't have democracy like we do. My dad says a lot of them are trying to get away from gangs and drugs and things. And being poor. I think they're probably a lot like us, just not with such a good country."

"So why do we have to take care of them? My dad says it's expensive and they're not our problem."

"I don't know," I shrugged. "Seems like somebody ought to give 'em a hand so they can get started. After coming from a shit-hole country like that." We both snickered. "Then, maybe next time, they might be the ones giving somebody a hand. You know, I was thinking, what if it was us?"

"Whattaya mean?" asked Billy.

"I mean, what if we had to leave our country and go to another country because of gangs or whatever?"

Billy howled with laughter. "Yeah, that's a good one!" he said. "That could never happen here! We are so not like that shit-hole down south!"

"That's true," I admitted sheepishly. "It makes me proud to be a Canadian."