Newmanesque Musings

When I was around ten years old, I was just about the most patriotic kid I knew. I would single-handedly argue the merits of Canadian football over American to all the boys in my class, I did school reports on Lorne Michaels and the legacy of Canadians in American comedy shows...I even sent Jason Priestley a Canadian flag autographed by all my friends so the man behind Brandon Walsh wouldn't forget his roots (yeah, cause that's what he wanted, autographs by a bunch of fifth grade girls). I was less emotional then than I am now (which says a lot), but the times I really remember getting teary eyed as a kid were when I would hear the national anthem played when a Canadian would bring home the gold in the Olympic games.

As I grew older, I became less so. Or at least less vocal about it. I came to the realization that the depth of our patriotism could be summed up in a collection of beer commercials. All of a sudden, everyone was loud and proud and my name is Joe and I AM Canadian. Even as I traveled overseas I was coming across scads of loud-mouthed, arrogant Canadians - whereas the few Americans I met seemed subtle and laid back. Everything I had always told myself it meant to be Canadian was tainted. Probably one of the few times over the past five years that I have spoken passionately about my country were in half drunken arguments with Mike Cahill at Fredas. For those of you who have never had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Cahill, he is a loud-mouthed, Irish-Catholic, hard-nosed republican from Massachusetts. One of his favourite discussion topics, to get a rise out of us Canucks, was the war effort - or more accurately - the Canadians lack thereof. Of course he was shocked to learn that, throughout the 20th century, Canadians have lost over 117 000 men in various war efforts (actually I think Cahill was just shocked to learn that the rest of the world was involved in a war BEFORE Pearl Harbour was bombed). He would also rag on us for not joining the U.S. in Iraq, at which point we would point out all of the men and women we have in Afghanistan trying to clean up the destruction that the U.S. left behind when they learned about the WMD in Iraq.

Which (longwindedly) brings me to my point. In my opinion, today is the most patriotic of all days, even more than July 1st, because today we celebrate everyday citizens becoming national heroes. I've always been big on Remembrance Day, and I'm not sure if it's because I had two Grandfathers would fought in the Air Force, or because on our family trip to England when I was eleven we went to every War Museum in Britain and listened exclusively to "Vera Lynn - Songs That Got Us Through The War" as we drove through the English countryside (I still remember all the words - it's a popular request at parties). But I'll admit, in the last few years my passion for this day seems to have dwindled alongside said patriotism. I'm proud of our present soldiers, but I'm having a hard time saluting them without really understanding what they're doing there. The tangibility of past wars is gone, and instead of hearing gut-wrenching stories about soldiers dying in great battles overseas to hold enemy lines, I'm reading press releases about accidental friendly fire incidents. Case in point, I was up partying all night last night in Downtown Vancouver and, on virtually no sleep and in the clothes I was wearing yesterday, I stumbled to the Skytrain this morning, passing herds of people wearing poppies as they made their way to ceremonies. I should have felt ashamed. Instead I felt nothing. But upon returning home, I turned on the TV and took in the various ceremonies going on across the country. It was at that point that I started thinking about everything I used to argue about with Cahill. It was then I realized the selfishness of my thinking. Here I am telling Mike about what WE're doing over in Afghanistan, how WE are over there trying to restore the economy, the infrastructure, the hope. And then it hit me. There I was, lying hungover on my couch, replenishing my electrolytes. Meanwhile these soldiers have left they're loved ones and everything that they know, to go into unknown territory to try to save people they have never even met, not knowing for sure if they are coming back. All in the name of Canada - so, as a Canadian, I can set the Michael Cahill's of the world straight about what WE are doing to make the world a better place.

So as I sit here now writing this blog and watching the Journey of the Unknown Soldier, I must admit, I'm getting a little misty. Maybe I'm just depressed at the fact that I am sitting here by myself eating Chinese take out and watching public television on a Saturday night. But I think there may be something more.

Lest We Forget

Hottata

P.S. Linny, your drunk texts are creeping on the whack side of whack ridonquless. I think we need to address this issue.