We tell our immigration stories. Yeah, we worked hard. Got a car and a house and OHIP for the family. We threw our children in daycare, children who knew no English and we said to ourselves, kids will be fine. But is that true? During recess at school, my son had no friends to play with. “So, I walk,” he said. In the schoolyard among basketball players and beyblade fighters, I saw my son walk. Walk walk walk, staring down at his toes. Who’s going to tell his immigration story?