Canadian Ways: A Memoir for Canada 150
EDITOR’S NOTE: In conjunction with Canada’s Sesquicentennial in 2017, members of the Manitoulin Writers’ Circle are crafting stories and poems to pay tribute to our country on this pivotal milestone birthday. The following memoir takes the reader back to that period just before Expo ‘67 when both the country and the Baby Boomers were coming of age.
by Vera Constantineau
I am Canadian and here’s how I know it. I like maple syrup, I eat poutine and I visit Tim’s on a regular basis. If you said that’s not all it takes to be Canadian, you’d be right, there’s more. I also say, ‘eh?’ and I talk about the weather all the time. Still not enough proof I’m a ducky Canuck? Well, lucky you, lucky me, there’s one last thing and it’s the clincher. I say sorry. A lot. Sorry.
To enhance my Canadian identity, I added some first-hand knowledge of our country by travelling through every province with the exception of Newfoundland/Labrador. I would love to visit there, but nobody, especially me, wants to re-enact what happens when I get on a ferry. Sorry.
I could make a longer list of the things we, as citizens, like to point to that set us apart in the world and make us Canadian, but it’s not necessary. I know exactly when I realized my Canadian identity.
I started Grade 9 at Little Current High School, I was a very nervous student, but like everyone else in the new student category, I quickly became accustomed to the layout of the school and its routines. By the time I started Grade 10 I was quite comfortable and knew my way around, knew the routine of class rotation and, and by Grade 11 going into the school was old hat. Although Grade 11 came with some surprises.Â
I’m sure my fellow students will recall that in 1968 a number of exchange teachers arrived from England and Scotland. That year my home room teacher was Miss Joan Webster. According to the yearbook she was from Britain, specifically Nottingham, the proof of her British home was in her accent.
That first morning of Grade 11, she stood with her back to the blackboard and introduced herself. She was dressed in a two-piece suit, one of many I discovered and her makeup was great. As the year went on, I discovered that she had either a co-ordinating lipstick or eyeshadow for each of her outfits. She was no navy suit woman, she had a bright blue suit, a coral suit and many vivid sweaters. I aspired to dress like her in my future. In thinking about that first day, I wonder if she was as nervous as I’d been only a couple of years before. After all, for her it was not just a different school, it was a different country as well.
Ms. Webster had completed her introduction when the intercom began to crackle and sputter. As always, we were asked to stand for the playing of the national anthem and we did. As the first notes of O Canada issued from the speaker I was overcome with emotion. In spite of having been exposed to hundreds of American tourists in my summer jobs, and having travelled to Montreal for Expo 67 with many other students the previous year, I don’t remember ever feeling specifically patriotic, but that first day with Miss Webster I was overcome with pride. The expression ‘my heart swelled’ could have been written for me that morning. I remember looking at Miss Webster and thinking, I am Canadian. This is my national anthem.
I recall that moment so well, feeling that at that moment it was my responsibility to be welcoming, and an ambassador for my country. Why that day? No idea, but that’s the day my Canadian self became reality.
Several weeks into the school year our Principal, Mr. Welsh, was absent for the morning. Mrs. Lena Anglin was filling in, and as we stood for the playing of O Canada, we all got a surprise. She played God Save the Queen. It was an honest mistake. When Mrs. Anglin retired from her position that was the Royal Anthem. O Canada had been approved as Canada’s national anthem by a Special Joint Committee of the Senate and House of Commons on March 15, 1967.
I wonder if Miss Webster’s thoughts in that moment were like mine? Did she think, I am British, this is my national anthem and I represent my country? If she did, the thought was short-lived.
A scraping sound from the PA speaker, a quick sorry, and O Canada piped forth.
None of my patriotic feelings born on that day have diminished. I sing O Canada whenever I get the chance and I am still very proud to be a Canadian.
I attempt to represent.
