Name: Jeanne
Subject: American Living in Canada

body: My eldest daughter wrote this as a letter to the editor of our paper. It is being published as a guest editorial.
----
I am a born and breed Generation X, Southern American, and damn proud of it. I've worn my USA shirts and my Button Fly Levi jeans. I've bought into all the glitter and jazz of my generation. I speak in a language that some
adults can't understand with my "Phat" and "Tight" and "Wassup". I play my radio in my big SUV way too loud and buy tennis shoes that cost more than some of my monthly bills. I watch my action movies filled with death and
sexuality. I've been desensitized pretty much since birth. I'm color blind.

I never really noticed a difference in blacks and whites until it was pointed out to me and I still have difficulty understanding that. But hey, that's "Those damn kids", we'll never understand I guess.

One thing that makes me different than my fellow Xer's is that I now have taken up residence in Toronto Canada. I have not forgotten who I am and where I've come from. Generally speaking, most Canadians can hear that I'm
not from their country. I have grits in my pantry, biscuits in my fridge, and ice tea in my glass. I still watch Dukes of Hazard and cut off all communication during the ACC and NCAA basketball tournaments.

So, I'm still American right? Proud of it? You're damn right! Especially now, when all of America has united, I'm still bearing my flag and have tears flowing down my cheeks during the national anthem. But, you know what?

During all of this unification, I've noticed something out of the corner of my eye, Canada has been right there beside me, beside us. They have been shedding their tears and bearing our flag.

People dressed in all black last Friday (September 14). They had three minutes of silence at noon, and EVERYONE was silent. Cars pulled over on the QEW, 401, and Lakeshore (all of which are huge major highways). When the three minutes finished, every radio station played their version of My national anthem.

I see cars with US flags on them, houses with US flags, US flags on t-shirts, tears in my neighbors eyes, all flags flying half mast, and newspaper editorials praising my country for the heroism being displayed.

On Tuesday (September 18), a group of Catholic school children held a twenty four hour vigilance in front of the US embassy. They read out each and EVERY victims name including a prayer. Some of our Catholic schools in North Carolina didn't even have a prayer service and they are holding 24 hour vigilances up here!

The Canadian government has offered their medical, police, military, and financial support of America.

I am without a doubt PROUD TO BE AMERICAN, but slowly and SURELY I am proud to be living in a country like Canada.

GOD BLESS THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
AND
GOD BLESS CANADA!!!

Nikki
September 21, 2001

Canadians hold a candlelight vigil on Wednesday, Sept. 12, 2001

Canadian family remembers son two months after he died in trade tower

ALISON AULD 
Canadian Press 

Saturday, November 10, 2001


(CP) - The flashes come often and without warning. In an instant, Marcel Pelletier is waking to the phone ringing early on the morning of Sept. 11 as he and his wife, Lillian, doze in bed. On the other end of the line, one of his daughters-in-law is shrieking, 'Turn on the TV, turn on the TV. It's just terrible, just terrible.' 

Marcel races to the TV and sits stunned as he sees a commercial jetliner plow into the south tower of New York City's World Trade Center and waves of smoke spew from the north tower. 

Groggy from sleep, he and his wife begin wracking their brains - on which floor of the north tower did their son Michael work? Where was he? Would he be late for work because he was taking his daughter to her first day of preschool? 

Desperate, they sit on their bed trying to calculate how long it would take their athletic son to get out of the 110-storey building. 

"We were trying to do the math," Marcel said from his home in Vancouver. 

"Someone had said before that if you're in the building it takes a good half minute to three-quarters of a minute to go down each flight of stairs under normal circumstances. 

"So I was saying, 'He's gone, there's just no way.' " 

Memories of the day Michael Pelletier died flood back quickly for the grieving father, spurred on by unpredictable reminders. The sight of a man and his child, a hockey game, or the sound of laughter - something Michael was known for - all conjure up the events of that horrible day. 

Some moments mix in a blur. Others are burned into memory, Marcel said in an interview two months after the disaster, as he recalled what those first 24 hours were like for his family. 

The reality of Michael's death didn't sink in immediately, he said. At first, he was convinced the handsome, brown-haired commodities broker would find his way out of the burning building. 

"We were saying there's gotta be a way, we know Mike, he's a survivor, he'll find some way out," Marcel, 63, said between gentle sobs. 

"We were just in shock." 

They had reason to believe that if anyone was to get out it would be Michael, a natural athlete known to his young nephew as 'hockey guy' for his legendary skills at a university in New York and in London, England, where he played professional hockey. 

Then began a series of frantic phone calls. 

One of the first was to Michael's wife, Sophie, who lived with the couple's two children in the sleepy Connecticut community of Greenwich, a 45-minute commute to Manhattan and smaller than the Canadian cities of Winnipeg, Montreal and Toronto where Michael grew up. 

Her day had begun as usual, with Michael rising at about 5:30 a.m. as she nursed their three-month-old son Nicholas. Michael, 36, kissed his wife, said goodbye and Sophie lazed in bed as he headed off on a clear morning to the train station. 

By 7:30 a.m., he was at his desk on the 105th floor, preparing for another day at TradeSpark, a division of Cantor Fitzgerald. 

Sophie would get up a little later to take Sydney, 2, to her first day at preschool. Michael had hoped to join the family, but had work that couldn't wait. 

Sophie, a soft-spoken 30-year-old, had planned to fill him in later with news of their daughter's big day. But at around 8:55 a.m. her cellphone rang as she was getting Sydney out of the car in the preschool's parking lot. 

She thought it might be Michael calling to wish Sydney luck and wasn't going to answer as she was trying to get her excited daughter into school. 

But she picked up and heard his voice racing on the other end. 

"He was panicked and said an airplane had hit the building," she said from her home in Greenwich. 

"He said he loved me and that he was going to try to get out." 

Michael urged her to call 911 to find someone who could help them out of the building that was on fire several floors below. 

She called the emergency number after hanging up with Michael, making it the last time she would talk to him. Only later would she learn the details of her husband's final moments from his friend, Randy Christ, who called Michael's cellphone. 

"He was disoriented and was trying to get some air at a window. He said he felt a little weak and he said, 'Stay with me, stay with me,' " Marcel said of Randy's conversation with Michael. 

Moments later, there was a huge thud and the phone line crackled with static. Marcel believes it was the shock of the second plane hitting the other tower that knocked out the connection. 

Then, the north tower crumbled to the ground in a suffocating swirl of acrid grey ash that rolled through the streets of Lower Manhattan. 

Marcel watched in disbelief, the horror of it too grotesque to comprehend. 

"It was almost like you're in a dream and you're waiting for someone to shake you awake. It was like you're talking and you don't hear yourself." 

As he watched, he talked to his other children who were spread across the country and the world. 

Ron Pelletier, the eldest child, was in Calgary. Dan Pelletier, his wife Kyle, and their children, were in Vancouver, and Kristina Pelletier was in Hong Kong, where she works as a teacher. 

All reacted differently to the news. 

"When we told Ron, he kept saying, 'No, no, no, that's impossible,' " Marcel said about Ron, who had recently visited Michael. "He just kept saying, 'No, he's OK.' " 

The family began trying to put together travel plans to get down to New York as Marcel and Lillian headed over to Dan's house. When Marcel walked through the door, he and Dan embraced and both broke down. 

They spent the day with Dan's small children, playing in the park, watching the news and praying with a local pastor who came to the house. 

In Greenwich, Sophie went to a local Red Cross office, dazed but anxious to do what she could to help. She talked to Christ, who told her she should go home. As she was heading to her house a radio news anchor announced one of the towers had plunged to the ground. 

In an instant, the building and her beloved husband were gone. 

"I felt like throwing up, or crying, or dying, but I had to keep it together because my baby was in the back," Sophie said in an earlier interview with the Ottawa Citizen. 

She managed to drive home, but collapsed when she pulled into the driveway where friends were waiting for her. 

She was taken inside and began the difficult job of getting Michael's relatives and her family, in California, to her home. She also had to deal with a stream of calls from Michael's friends in Canada and the United States. 

Marcel was also struggling with travel plans, but managed days later to get flights to New York for everyone except Ron, who came down later. Marcel stayed for a month, visiting Ground Zero, providing officials with Michael's DNA samples and helping Sophie with the children and Michael's affairs. 

At a memorial service organized by the family in Connecticut, one of Michael's brothers and his sister sang a song they had written, and Dan read a children's story he wrote about the tragedy and his brother, called The Laughing Prince. 

It's those gestures that keep Michael's memory alive, Marcel says in a house filled with photographs of their sweet-natured son, and candles lit in his honour. 

"He was always smiling. He was always a happy guy," says Marcel. 

"It still strikes us, 'Why him, what's the reason?' But we know, there is no reason." 

The Canadian 

These Canadian Memorial pages 
were made possible by 
Carol of Saskatoon, SK, Canada
She made the background, found the graphics and articles and sent the 
Canadian National Anthem.