Merry Canada Day to you -- and you, and you. I love this land of the free, home of the brave, and I hope you do, too. I have spent almost every hour of my 54 years living and loving this country that runs from sea to shining sea, and I hope to spend the next 54 years doing the same.
I have travelled it from Sooke on BC's West Coast to St. John's harbour in Newfoundland. I have snacked, sneezed, and slept in every province, except for Prince Edward Island. And as soon as I get a role playing Matthew Cuthbert's father, I'll be there.
Defining Canada is like defining truth. You may recall the parable of some blind beggars who were asked to describe the elephant that somehow crossed their path. "Thick, like a tree stump," one said, as he grabbed its leg. Another responded with: "Long and twisty," as he caressed its trunk. There were other versions of the elephant, as each man in his own way touched and described it.
Like the parable, how could I describe Canada? Like the parable, we can really only describe parts of it. Flat, like a prairie? High, like a mountain? Frozen, like a tundra? Well, yes and yes and yes.
That's geography. The same can be said about our history; that is, we really only know small bits and pieces of it. History buffs (and buffettes) realize that early colonists were French, then British, nearly American (Patriot-style), then British and French again. Or was it the other way around? And what about First Nations, Metis, the Black Loyalists, the Chinese railroad workers - all builders of this great land? (I need to remember that this is a column, not a History 20 course.)
For me personally, my roots follow the Irish Protestant path: My paternal grand-parents were part of a wave around 100 years ago, ending up in Winnipeg in the early 1900s. Then they saw the light and moved west in the mid-forties.
Just prior to Thomas and Anne Funston's foray to Manitoba, there were waves of immigrants that flocked to the prairies - perhaps some of your own people, many generations ago - created much of what we call Canada today. They filled up the prairies with their claims to 160 acres of "free" land, and turn what Palliser thought was a veritable wasteland into one of the most productive and fertile regions of our country.
So much for Canada. Let's figure out what a Canadian is. Are they white or black or red? Do they speak English, French or Mandarin? May I wade into the religious fray to ask: Is a Canadian Protestant, Catholic, Muslim or simply an atheist? (I'm not sure, either.)
The heroes and heroines that become Canadian citizens tomorrow afternoon must certainly be included in this long list of Canadians - no matter that they were born in Cambodia, have a different religion, and eat "funny" food. They have made significant sacrifices to emigrate here, making this land their land, these people their people.
The irony is not lost here: There are many things that identify us as Canadians, yet, in many ways, I am not sure if we can actually define the word "Canadian" any longer. In the former case, I speak of the beaver, the maple leaf, the RCMP, Hockey Night in Canada, and the natural resources of British Columbia's logging, Alberta's farming, and Newfoundland's fishing industries. I see those things, and I think "Canadian."
The past is, well, past. But we live in the present, that defining dot on the continuum of culture. A brief investigation of history (the past) will reveal that Canada was easily as diverse, different, and divided then as it is now. The ethnic pockets, the baseless biases, the out-and-out racism -- just for starters - were as prevalent then as it is now.
I think I know what Canada is. I 'm just not sure if I know what a Canadian is, however. What I do know is that, as a lifelong Canadian, I will do my best to make this country a better, safer, stronger country.
That may be the best present we could all bring to her party.
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