Three years after my family of origin immigrated to Canada, we moved to Flemingdon Park in east-end Toronto. Today, it seems like an unlikely move for my parents, knowing their aspirations for wealth and status. Back in the 90s, Flemingdon Park was profiled as a ghetto, and only mentioned in news stories about daytime shootings.
While my parents remained unimpressed during our five-year residence, I thought it was the most wonderful neighbourhood I had ever lived in. It was the first time since moving to Canada that I didn’t feel othered. It was the first time that I attended school with other children of colour. In fact, it seemed that there were few kids who weren’t immigrants. Some were first generation Canadians, a couple handfuls were the children of white settlers going back three or more generations, and none identified as Indigenous.
Finally, I thought, I’m part of the majority.
Along with their four children and their dreams, my parents traveled with their prejudice about other nationalities, cultures, and skin tones. According to them, light-skinned Iranians were the most admirable of all people, followed by darker-skinned Iranians, and then light-skinned Europeans. Everyone else was judged according to their skin colour- the darker the tone, the less trustworthy, less intelligent, and less courteous.
