My name is Ken, and I AM CANADIAN

I think every Canadian should have a map of Canada in his or her house. It should be displayed in a place where one can sit and contemplate the wonderful vastness of this land.As Canadians, we are continuously groping for an identity and a sense of love for our nation. We grapple with the concept, find it somewhat distasteful and leave it for another day.We find American flag waving, hand over heart while belting out 'Oh, say, can you see...' too much and avoid doing the same. We admire their national spirit, but Canadians are, in contrast, understated.To understand the identity that exists in our hearts think of our sweepingly majestic home—its quiet, serene beauty. A beauty recognizable to us all. We are proud of this nation and of who we are. We just don't say it to everyone we meet (and perhaps we should!).It's like the map of Canada. It just sits there on the wall displaying the lines of our coasts, the bulk of our waterways and the breadth of our northern territories. Surveying all of this leaves me in awe.It brings a tear to my eye ... 0h, CANADA!

--Debora O'Neil


For the past week at my work they've lifted the dress code and allowed people to dress 'Canadian'., i.e., in red and white, with some sort of Canadian theme. Now, normally I'd take full advantage of any opportunity to get out of those damned Price Chopper hairshirts...but I don't own anything red, and I have only two kinds of white shirts--dress shirts and wife-beaters, neither of which are exactly appropriate.
The day after that memo went up, I went in to work and was stunned to realize I was one of maybe three employees still dressed in the 'official' uniform. Even more shocking, to my mind, were the number of people who had explicitly Canadian T-shirts, everything from a giant Canadian flag to the motto "Canadian Girls Have Fun, Eh".
My boss accosted me before I'd made it ten steps into the building. "Where's your Canadian shirt?"
"I don't have anything red, or white for that matter. And I don't own a Canadian piece of clothing--not sure I ever have. I don't need a shirt to tell myself or anyone else I'm Canadian."
"I got mine"--he pointed to his shirt, a red number with "Canada" in white below an etched Maple Leaf--"at Wal-Mart for six bucks." Or something like that, anyway: I'd largely tuned him out, but what I did hear rankled a little. Good for you, I thought. So, being as I go through a shirt every day, was I supposed to buy six of them, knowing I'll never wear them again? Or did you seriously expect me to do a load of laundry every night between now (June 24) and July 1?
I didn't say any of that aloud, though I dearly wanted to. Instead I went through my week, blue-shirted and conspicuous; every customer with a question sought me out, presumably on the grounds that I was the only employee in a recognizable uniform they could find. It'd be worth the $35 or $40 next year not to have that happen again. (Though I draw the line at Hallowe'en--I was too old for that at eleven.)


The thing is, I am a proud Canuck, even if you'd never guess it by my attire. I may not feel the need to advertise it, but I love my country. It's kind of hard not to.

First, there's the land. Vast stretches of it are, to put it mildly, inhospitable. Voltaire dismissed us as quelques arpents de neiges ("several acres of snow"). It's true that many of us concentrate within a stone's throw of the U.S. border, but you'll find Canadians from Cape Spear to Vancouver Island and all the way to Resolute. There's just no getting around how almighty vast this land is: we cover more time zones (six) than any country save Russia, and that's just east to west. It's an incredibly diverse country, with different sorts of beauty everywhere you look.
Then there's the people on the land, just as diverse and for the most part getting along in harmony. We're tolerant of all but the intolerant (and we'll even make allowances for people who want us dead) and yet we have a fierce fighting tradition. In the First World War, if there was some ridge you needed to take, you got the Canadians to do it for you. We've been asleep for some time now: rouse us at your peril.
Nobody likes the government, of course...but there's something to be said for a country where a succession of Prime Ministers can appear on national television and be ritually mocked and humiliated. If you're mad as hell in Canada, you bitch to all who will listen. You fight with barbs, not bombs or bullets. That a land ripe with frontiers should be so peaceful and ordered escapes comprehension.
This country's so big, it's understandable that people should forget about the world outside its borders. And yet we're keen global observers, and we travel everywhere. It never fails to amaze me, when some disaster is reported in Nowheresville or the Lesser Gnat's Whisker Islands, they always find at least one Canadian affected.
Having achieved something like an ideal state, we want the rest of the planet to be as we are. But instead of evangelizing, at gunpoint or no, we simply invite everyone from everywhere to come join us. It may be a tad naive to expect tribal hatreds to melt away simply by virtue of a new geography, but oh, what a magnificent naivete!

There's no place I'd rather hang my hat than 'the True North, strong and free'. I may not wear my patriotism on my shirt, but only because my shirt covers my heart.

Happy birthday, Canada.