First of all, I'd like to say I'm amazed. I'm really new to this, and I'm amazed, sitting here and hearing these stories. As human beings, if we forget our political ethnicities and just look at this as humans—My feeling is that I want to know how I can help these people.
Anyway, I wrote a letter to Prime Minister Harper. Everybody here has a copy of it. I was essentially just going to read it again.
I was one of these people also born out of wedlock in 1959. What had happened was that my father—and this is the dirt coming out—was already married to another woman. He was a police officer in the OPP, stationed out of Barrie, Ontario. My mom was a nurse in Orillia. They happened to meet; things happened, even as they do in modern times. Unfortunately, in those days we didn't have birth control, and my mother became pregnant with me.
My mom came from a very well-off family in the Port Severn area. To avoid embarrassment, through a nurse friend down in the Windsor area they ended somehow up in Detroit, Michigan, at Sinai Hospital, where I was born.
Through my formative years I'd always been told I was born at Mount Sinai Hospital in Toronto.
On a trip to the United States on vacation I had met a girl myself. I went down and visited her in Kansas. While I was there, I befriended a police officer and spent a fair amount of time with him. We got the idea that maybe I should join the job down there, so I applied for my birth certificate, because I realized I didn't have one; back then you didn't need anything other than your driver's licence to cross the border.
I got a letter back. My mom was literally making dinner one night, and my mail sat at my place at the kitchen table in the old farmhouse there. I remember reading it and saying, “Gee whiz, mom, they're saying I've never been born. The Canadian government checked five years before my birthdate and five years after, and they have no Rod Donaldson born on that date.”
With that, mom suffered a little bit of embarrassment. A couple of days later she took me into the family dining room, sat me down, and proceeded to tell me the story I've just told you.
I wondered how I came to Canada. What had happened was that she had left me behind. I was left in Warren, Michigan—to the best of my knowledge—with someone who I know was notary public. I think her husband was a lawyer, but when my mom handed me my birth certificate, which happened to be a fictitiously named American birth certificate, she asked me never to contact the people who had notarized that certificate, so that's why I'm thinking those thoughts.
Two years later, my parents were together. Dad had left his previous wife. My little brother had now been born, and I guess they decided they'd better go get Rod Junior. They went across the border, and mom was literally at the front door, knocking on the front door and talking with the husband and wife, and my father snuck in the back door and stole me out of their house and brought me to Canada.
On the trip to Canada, dad, being a police officer and thinking they were going to be looking for this car, dropped my mom off at the border, and she pushed me over. I asked her, “How did I get here?” She said, “Literally, I pushed you across the border in a baby carriage, and dad came around in the car and picked us up later.”
I have fallen through many loopholes, all just because people know who I am. They know I'm Rod's boy, so I must be a Canadian. I think Ms. Eden touched on the fact that we need proof of Canadian citizenship in order to get a driver's licence. In British Columbia that is now how it is. Fortunately for me, where I go, everybody knows me. I just walked in; I basically never filled out anything other than to say that this is me, and I got my licence, so the loopholes are still there.
I'm just asking that these problems be fixed.