I finally became a permanent resident of Canada last week. Oddly enough, after all the incorrect information, misdirection and flat-out incompetence we received, the final step was handled beautifully.

We were given a date to appear at Immigration. We showed up about a half-hour ahead of our appointment and had to sit on the floor. I wasn't sure what to expect -- waterboarding? The secret Canadian handshake?

Instead, my wife and I were called to a small window (pretty much the same as you'd pay your hydro bill), asked a couple of questions and given congratulations. The process took all of 10 minutes, and then we were directed to another window to register for my Social Insurance number. The woman there had some real difficulties in spelling my mother's maiden name, but then, so does everyone else.

I don't feel any differently now that I'm all legal, but I guess I'll have to continue shedding my American ways.

I've already called the local smelter about melting down my hand guns.