I don't know, this one's all chance
When I went to Canada I was thinking I would see a bear, I would have some maple syrup, the mounties would hassle me a little bit. As it turned out the only thing that happened is the hassling by the mounties. While crossing the border they decided to ransack my car, opening every neatly packed bag, taking everything out and leaving everything for me to clean up. Dang Canadians. What I never suspected I would find in Canada was my parents.
And so the story goes. Beth, Don and I were walking the streets of Victoria late at night when a homeless man tried to hit me up for a bit of money. I kindly responded that I was unemployed and could do no such thing, when he asked "what about my Dad?" apparently referring to Don. From that moment on, we just went with it. Don was my Dad, and Beth was my Mom. We took family pictures across the BC and we discussed having family days and caught up on the 29 years of my life in which they left me under thecare of two loving parents that were never really mine. To be honest, I'm kind of happy that I'm an exotic, interracial child. The Canadian Half of me explains my accent and my love of the outdoors and hockey. My other half explains, well, it explains the rest, everything from my accumulation of stuff to my love for cheesy game shows.
It was nice to finally know why I am what I am - but I made sure my newfound parents knew that this meeting would be bittersweet. You better believe I'm collecting every last one of those allowances I missed out on (that's from my Mom's side), and I'll be shacking up with one of them as soon as my last penny is spent.