Sea to Shining Sea

I dug through my drawer yet again. Where was it!?! I paused and dig a mental check. Where had I last worn it? When had I last worn it? I was searching for my AllMaple Girl t-shirt. It was red and it said AllMaple on it. It was my most Canadian shirt and I wasn't leaving the house without it. I couldn't leave the house without it. I had to wear the Canadian uniform - jeans, a red t-shirt and a long sleeved white t-shirt. On Canada Day, you have to wear the colours. Ah-ha, I had put it in the other drawer. I pulled it out in triumph and put it on. I was ready to go. I was wearing the colours. Later in the day, I would also wearing the flag but that was much later.

I am the child of immigrants. My family is new enough to Canada that we choose to be here, we choose to believe that life would be better in Canada. Being of the Anglo-Saxon background, the culture shock wasn't as great as for other new Canadians. Other immigrants have a harder time adjusting to life in Canada. We also assume that they have a harder time adjusting. We accept them as Canadians but at the same time, we view them with a slight suspicion. Would they form their own ghettos and refuse to assimilate or would they become like us? We can't define us but we know it when we see it, we think.

Canada Day in Ottawa was packed with people. The city closed down the street in front of the hill and it was packed with people. The patriotism, for Canada, was high. The uniform of jeans with red t-shirts was everywhere. And then I saw her. I stared for a brief second and then a massive grin spread across my face and I continued on, feeling that this was truly Canada. I had spotted a Muslim teenager. Her dress, which came to her wrists and her ankles, was white and her headscarf was a brilliant red. She too was wearing the colours.

I imagined that as I flung clothes all over my room trying to find my red t-shirt, she too had been digging through drawers trying to find her red headscarf. We had both come out to join the throngs and to prove that in wearing the colours and being there, we were proud Canadians. Within the constraints of our own narrow cultures, we had expressed ourselves as Canadian and a desire to be here.

Through-out the day, I spotted others to whom the definition of acceptable or normal clothing differs from my own but who had made an effort to declare themselves to be patriotic Canadians. And in our differences, we had something greater in common. The belief that Canada is a great country and worth believing in. It was worth digging through drawers to find the correct colour combination and taking to the street to stand on guard. No matter the background, we are all Canadian.