My perspective at 7 years old, another response in class
I remember the day that my parents and siblings decided to come up to Canada. We were all born on an island in the Caribbean that was not the most endowed of all the islands in the ocean.
I was sad and gave away all my possessions because I would not need them here. The first year in Canada had not been the best. I joined the Canadian elite when I was seven; old enough for grade two, but not old enough to understand the ways of society. I imagine how hard it is for the people who have had a hard time in this country where English is dominant and even though other languages are introduced, you don't really need them unless you're in Toronto, or Quebec.
But for us who do not live in these places, we have to adapt to our current situations with English. The one story that always replays in my head as I think about my first year in this great land is not so happy. It is not about mountain police on horses or igloos like most Americans like to believe Canada is all about, but instead it is about my language barrier and how young kids are and how cruel they can truly be. I remember recess was always a burden for me. I had a girl who became my translator, but she was nowhere during my recess hours. We were waiting in line, like most kids do at the end of recess, and some kids behind me murmured my name and something in English that I did not understand--I simply turned around and punched him. I know it isn't the best way to handle a situation, but I was seven and from a country that practiced similar things as a kid that could possibly be called "Self Protection".
That is what I mainly remember when I think back to what the first impression of Canada was to me.