Atikokan is in the Northwest corner of Ontario. It is so removed from the big city, that even in 1979, it seemed to have been entirely bypassed by the highways.
It was more or less like any other non-metropolitan area, and natural resources industries drew so many immigrants that we found ourselves living with Dombrowskis, Smitsnuks, Kerrs, MacDonalds, Gauthiers, Schmidts, and Tuusas.
Our fathers, working in lumber mills and mines, learned early enough to get along with each other. Our mothers in their common battle against iron-red mud and the lean year developed, as mothers have long done, a mutual respect and often affection.
We children never took time to entertain any ideas about differences. Sure, we argued about important things like erasers or candy, but never about race or name. We arrived in high school feeling neither superior nor inferior. There we saw our first black students, and I don't recall being impressed one way or the other, though the guy was nice looking enough to remember even today.
By this time I think I have made it clear that Atikokan was a good place to grow up. We neither preached nor practiced tolerance, we were too ignorant to know there was anything to tolerate. My thanks to my parents, and to the place I grew up in during the 60s and 70s which was more by-way than highway and more flower pot than melting pot.
acknowlegement for the idea: a tip of the hat to Walt Kelley creator of "Pogo Possum"
