Marci's Canada 150 Challenge

My husband, Alan, was listening to CBC radio this winter and heard a woman being interviewed about the Canadian day she’d had. She and a friend were headed out to snowshoe, stopped at Tim Horton’s, and then were pulled over for speeding by an RCMP officer.  ‘How Canadian’ they thought and then wondered if they could come up with 150 things "Canadian" in this sesquicentennial year.

Alan loved the idea, and as a history major, picked it up and has been having great fun re-discovering and uncovering many fascinating stories. Adding a twist to the challenge, he decided he had to somehow work himself in by being photographed with some aspect of the story, such as tossing a garbage bag at the dump (yes, garbage bags were a Canadian invention), dressing in furs for a piece on the importance of the fur trade, or sitting on the bench beside the sculpture of Glenn Gould. There are over sixty-five stories on his Facebook page so far and some of ALAN'S CANADA 150 CHALLENGE posts are being published in the local paper.
As a philosopher and explorer of the human spirit, I had different musings about what it is to be Canadian.  Almost immediately my mind went to a writing circle I had participated in in Toronto.  We did an exercise to evoke childhood memories, tapping into feelings of innocence, and later read them aloud.  I wrote about pigtails and giggles and swinging so high I became part of the sky.  Innocence had such an earthy spaciousness for me and pulsed with an insatiable hunger for story and connection.

Another member of the circle, a tall German woman, recognized the bubbliness of which I wrote and asked to read next.  As she began her story though, you could sense a change. The joy behind her smile suddenly plummeted and her voice began to quaver. 

She grew up in the 1940’s with pedigree and elegance and was doted on by parents and servants alike.  It was a sweet life.  Her family had owned a factory and she would often skip across town and visit her father there.  But as the Second World War ended, her privileged world came crashing down and her family, fortune and sense of wonder fell into ruins.  She was just a little girl.  It wasn’t fair.  So much was taken away.

As I listened to this beautiful portrayal of ‘innocence lost’ unwind, my body began to shudder.  I kept listening to her heartfelt story but other feelings percolated as well.  Soon gut-wrenching turmoil put my body in shock, and I couldn’t move. 

Was the bomb that killed my grandfather’s sister and mother while they were praying in synagogue from that same munitions factory where this woman had eaten candy and sipped tea?  What do I do with this? 

What do I do?

So many thoughts blew in, catching me, pushing me, lashing me.

That was seventy years ago; that was an ocean away.

That was the family my grandfather failed to rescue and despaired about till the day he died.

I reminded myself.

I reminded myself to return to the present moment and let the purity of her experience resonate.

I reminded myself how tender every child’s heart is, and how devastating it is when it begins to shrivel.

I reminded myself…of my humanity.

To me this is what it is to be Canadian: to be part of this beautiful mosaic. Here, we aren’t asked to conform but instead, as a culture, ask of ourselves to remember our humanity.  We work hard, we explore the vast unknown, and we cherish the power in each one of our stories. And although we too have villains and obstacles in our story - our history, isn’t it beautiful to know the thread that weaves through it, binding it, quilting it, is one of respect and appreciation.

Bygones are bygones and if we can soften into the present moment with kindness and appreciation there will be much, much more to celebrate together in the many years to come.

Happy Summer, everyone!