By Paul Loewen
Winnipeg, MB
[The] Canadian flag which, while bringing together but rising above the landmarks and milestones of the past, will say proudly to the world and to the future: "I stand for Canada."
~Lester B. Pearson
It was a warm day. So warm, in fact, that the beach was exploding with people. I was there with a group of friends. We're not particularly beach people, but it was in the high thirties, and it was Canada Day. For some reason, we chose to go to the beach. It's an athletic group, so we always spend some of our time competing. This time it was a competition to see who could hold their breath and swim the furthest completely underwater.
Winnipeg, MB
[The] Canadian flag which, while bringing together but rising above the landmarks and milestones of the past, will say proudly to the world and to the future: "I stand for Canada."
~Lester B. Pearson
It was a warm day. So warm, in fact, that the beach was exploding with people. I was there with a group of friends. We're not particularly beach people, but it was in the high thirties, and it was Canada Day. For some reason, we chose to go to the beach. It's an athletic group, so we always spend some of our time competing. This time it was a competition to see who could hold their breath and swim the furthest completely underwater.
Coming back out of the water, we grabbed a Frisbee and a football, claiming a spot on a reasonably large field at the park. Five of us tossed them around, chasing them when the throws occasionally went out of control. I started out on the beach side of the field, but eventually rotated around towards the side that lined some taller trees and brush. This is where the story begins.
Well, actually, it begins long ago. I was born in Canada. Grew up playing hockey on the street in summer and on a sheet of ice in the backyard in winter. We had a Canadian flag in the backyard, and watched the Olympics, anticipating the gold medal match. When Canada won in 2002, we screamed so loudly we nearly lost our voices. When, in 2010, we set a new record for the number of golds in an Olympic games, we were ecstatic. I was always proud to be Canadian.
But I didn't know why.
Jump back to today. My friend throws the football towards me. I follow its arc and, realizing it's not coming directly toward me, I start running. I take off towards my left, barefoot and trusting that the ground won't suddenly twist my ankle. There's a garbage can on the field and I know it's coming, so I avoid it. I jump to reach for the football and miss. It rolls off my fingers -- I couldn't quite make it in time.
I land on my feet and slow down, turning to follow the bouncing ball. I chase it down to where it has rolled -- within feet of a group of people. I look up from the ball and take in my surroundings. I had noticed that they were having a picnic, but I hadn't seen. It was a family gathering of East Indians. There were about fifty of them, only half the size of my own large family. Someone in the group sees the football and tosses it back to me, a smile on his face.
On his right cheek is a maple leaf.
On his left cheek is a maple leaf.
On his forehead is a maple leaf.
On his shirt is a Canadian flag.
On the tree behind the group is a Canadian flag, draped and fluttering in the wind.
In that one glimpse I saw between two and three hundred Canadian flags. On the trees, on shirts, on faces, on hats, on towels, on chairs, on tables, on just about everything and anything with a surface.
In that moment everything came crashing down. I threw on a Canadian hockey jersey during the Olympics or the World Juniors. I cheered when Sidney Crosby scored in overtime. I laugh at the Canadian jokes and the beer commercials. But I never understood what it meant to be Canadian.
I complain about the roads. I complain about the weather (though I love winter). I complain about the government. I complain about so many things.
All it took for me to see reason was an East Indian family celebrating a new country. Celebrating the things that Canada offers that I take for granted. The wonderful things that make this country a great place to live.
I grew up here, so I don't see them. But they're there. I don't even need to list them. I can leave that up to you. But I hope it doesn't take a mis-thrown football and hundreds of Canadian flags for you to see what I saw.
Well, actually, it begins long ago. I was born in Canada. Grew up playing hockey on the street in summer and on a sheet of ice in the backyard in winter. We had a Canadian flag in the backyard, and watched the Olympics, anticipating the gold medal match. When Canada won in 2002, we screamed so loudly we nearly lost our voices. When, in 2010, we set a new record for the number of golds in an Olympic games, we were ecstatic. I was always proud to be Canadian.
But I didn't know why.
Jump back to today. My friend throws the football towards me. I follow its arc and, realizing it's not coming directly toward me, I start running. I take off towards my left, barefoot and trusting that the ground won't suddenly twist my ankle. There's a garbage can on the field and I know it's coming, so I avoid it. I jump to reach for the football and miss. It rolls off my fingers -- I couldn't quite make it in time.
I land on my feet and slow down, turning to follow the bouncing ball. I chase it down to where it has rolled -- within feet of a group of people. I look up from the ball and take in my surroundings. I had noticed that they were having a picnic, but I hadn't seen. It was a family gathering of East Indians. There were about fifty of them, only half the size of my own large family. Someone in the group sees the football and tosses it back to me, a smile on his face.
On his right cheek is a maple leaf.
On his left cheek is a maple leaf.
On his forehead is a maple leaf.
On his shirt is a Canadian flag.
On the tree behind the group is a Canadian flag, draped and fluttering in the wind.
In that one glimpse I saw between two and three hundred Canadian flags. On the trees, on shirts, on faces, on hats, on towels, on chairs, on tables, on just about everything and anything with a surface.
In that moment everything came crashing down. I threw on a Canadian hockey jersey during the Olympics or the World Juniors. I cheered when Sidney Crosby scored in overtime. I laugh at the Canadian jokes and the beer commercials. But I never understood what it meant to be Canadian.
I complain about the roads. I complain about the weather (though I love winter). I complain about the government. I complain about so many things.
All it took for me to see reason was an East Indian family celebrating a new country. Celebrating the things that Canada offers that I take for granted. The wonderful things that make this country a great place to live.
I grew up here, so I don't see them. But they're there. I don't even need to list them. I can leave that up to you. But I hope it doesn't take a mis-thrown football and hundreds of Canadian flags for you to see what I saw.
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