“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Ah Loy. I was educated here in this country, at the University of Toronto. I don’t blame you for not understanding everything.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Bea piped up. “My father went to English school when he was allowed to and was the first in his class. He would have gone to university too, but he couldn’t. Just because we’re not rich like you doesn’t mean my dad isn’t smart.”

Auntie Elizabeth pulled her husband’s arm towards the door.

Father’s face was red as he called Hilary. She came reluctantly, crying. Her family left in a hurry and Father slammed the door behind them. I watched through the window as Uncle Sam tugged Hilary all the way home. The salt from the preserved eggs lingered on my mouth, stinging my chapped lips.

While Bea and I were washing the dishes, we heard Mother say, “Ah Loy, the strike has been going on for a month now. Maybe we should see this as a good time to think about moving.”

Father sat at the table picking his teeth with a toothpick. “Move? Why? The strike can’t last for more than another week.”

“How do you know? Miriam told me that management is not in a good place and that the union is asking for the impossible. Maybe it’s time to make a change.”

“I know what you want, Swee Hua. You want to go home.”

“Is that so bad? To go back to where you’re from?”

Father laughed bitterly. “Don’t talk to me about going home. There is no such place.”

“But going back as a Canadian would open so many doors for us. No longer would people look down on you. People would come to you for things.”

“What things? What could I offer them, Swee Hua? Wo bo lui, I have no money! That’s what everyone is looking for. And what about our daughters? I want them to be raised in Canada. Why would we go back to a place that didn’t want us?”

She looked at father like he was a stranger. “Our daughters will never know our family as well as we knew ours. We are alone here. They barely know where they’re from.”

“How can you say that? My sister is here, and you and I are here. That’s all they need. This is their home. They are Canadian.”

“We can have a good life there, too.”

“No, Swee Hua.”

Mother sighed and brought the rest of the dishes to the sink. The frown lines around her mouth were deep. “Why isn’t the Canadian passport enough?” she whispered. “Why does he want to live in this cold land? Where’s the Hakka in him?”

I think the Hakka in Father left him as soon as he held his Canadian passport for the first time. He was like the Burmis Tree on Highway 3. It had lived 750 years. In its old age, the tree was toppled by wind but propped up with stainless-steel rods by the Crowsnest Heritage community. Father would rather stay in a broken state than leave the place that gave him a home.