This First Person article is written by Leslie Gavel, who lives in Calgary and is originally from Regina. For more information about First Person stories, see the FAQ.
“Where are you from?”
Not an uncommon question at a dinner party. This one happens to take place in Calgary, my home of 47 years.
“Regina,” I reply.
“What a hole,” they shoot back.
This irritates the hell out of me. I wish I could say these comments aren’t common, but they are.
I put my hand on my heart for added effect.
“That’s my home. Where I was born and raised.”
I tell myself I’ll pursue it further next time I hear this — what exactly do they mean? — but instead I always move on, not looking for an argument.
I’m guessing Regina probably gets these comments because we don’t have mountains balanced on the horizon, we aren’t perched on an ocean or we have rundown parts of town (as every city I’ve ever been in does).
Maybe the quiet beauty of the Prairies is lost on them.
When I was almost 18 and just completing high school, my parents moved to Lethbridge, Alta., for a work transfer for my dad. I went with them. I wasn’t making a concerted effort to leave Regina or Saskatchewan, but I was without direction and didn’t see a reason to remain behind. The party that was high school couldn’t last forever.
I worked for my dad for a year, then moved to Calgary to go to university and never left. In some ways it feels like yesterday I was skipping school, hanging out at the local confectionery, enveloped in a haze of cigarette smoke. In other ways it feels like forever ago — years mired in the minutiae of the day-to-day, building a life that resembled adulthood.
A drive down memory lane
Now, 48 years later, I’m returning to catch up with the friends who were such a big part of my life from elementary school to this day. It’s one of many trips I’ve made home over the years.
Where we spend our formative years is in our DNA. Geography is not only a dot on a map. It’s family and friends, climate, culture.
Why do people feel the need to take you out in one fell swoop with comments like those at the dinner party?
I rarely fly on these visits from Calgary to Regina. I like to stop in Swift Current, Sask., which is on the way, to visit my mom and grandparents’ graves, but I think I would choose to make the eight-hour drive anyway. I want to soak up the endless skies, the boundless land, the arresting sunsets and the lusty smells of soil and grass.
WATCH | CBC Blue Sky listeners explain why they feel Regina is not a hole
Standing next to the graves, I’m pulled back to my grandparents’ farm about 40 miles (when I was young, we measured distances in miles instead of kilometres) north of Swift Current, where my sister and I spent summer days playing house as the sun streaked through the towering poplars. Nana delivered thick slices of lemon loaf and milk. Everything about her exuded comfort.
More memories come to me as I’m cruising the Trans-Canada Highway. Almost every Sunday, our family travelled about an hour by car to Moose Jaw, Sask., to visit my dad’s parents. Outside of the city, the land turned wide and edgeless and I felt like we could slip off the Earth if our car wasn’t holding us in place. In the winter, the sun glancing off the snow seemed like it could blind you. I think the land cast a spell on me.
Once in Regina I’m awash in more nostalgia: going downtown to the library on Saturdays, browsing the bookmobile parked adjacent to my schoolyard, trekking to school with the snow drifts swallowing my boots, playing for hours with my pals on Motherwell Crescent, visiting the colourful carpet of flowers at the legislature and dressing up to go to the golf course for supper.
Later memories centre on boys I dated and the hours we spent drinking coffee in any casual restaurant that wouldn’t kick us out or sipping alcohol in empty fields.
I could have been happy in Regina if life hadn’t pulled me in another direction. The people disparaging Regina ignore the energy that comes from being a government town. They never mention the beautiful legislative grounds, the university, the strong arts and cultural scene or the housing being more affordable than many places. Whenever I return, I’m reminded of the friendly people and manageable traffic.
I announce where I’m from with pride. No one should have to apologize for where they live or have lived.
No one is from a hole.
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