jawnbc | Street Legal

So his nibs,

querrelle, is officially Mrs. Nearly Canadian. This morning we boogied on down to the Canadian Consulate General of Sydney and picked up his Permanent Resident (IM-1) visa. We're done; now all we have to do is organize, pack and go. We'll be in Vancouver in a little less than 2 months.

The process of getting

querrelle's visa was remarkably straightforward. We filled (lots of) forms, gathered supporting information, checked things several times over, paid some money, and waited. We began work in earnest on the application mid-February; it was in their hands 01 March and everything was approved 10 Jun--a very fast turnaround for a file that was sent from Australia to Canada, took 45 days to process there, then came back to Australia for further processing. Pretty lickety split quick you ask me.

But that $.35 decal in his passport is of a much greater value to me, symbolically speaking. That decal means that my country, Canada, views us as a real and legitimate family.My government's processing of our application expeditiously--so we don't have to live apart--tells me that I am a full, legitimate, genuine Canadian citizen--and that Max can be one day too, if he so desires. I am, we are, equal.

Before I moved to Canada I had a huge chip on my shoulder as a gay man. No one knocked it off (OK, a few tried, it's Canada not Sodom); instead I brushed it off myself, as one-by-one I was given my entitlements as a Canadian. When I arrived in Vancouver in 1989, there was no national protection of queers in the Canadian Human Rights Act; over the next 15 years we received every individual and nearly every familial entitlement available. Including the "priviledge" of paying more taxes as a couple: fine by me, where do I send the cheque.

You might think I'm a silly fook, but I get weepy when I think about this. The first 25 years of my life made it abundantly clear that I was less-than, unimportant, worthy of scorn--not because of the content of my character, but because I love men. I have a visceral memory of that vulnerability, the resiliency required (even as a gay man who "passes" as str8 to a large extent), the weariness that resulted. I remember, I remember.

Let's just call this another day where I'm profoundly moved, honoured and gratified to Canadian. Congratulations Baby--et bienvenue (bientôt) au Canada!