call me Canadien

And she pushes me down and as I hit the floor

I swear in French

and she leans down, mock-listening, and says "What was that, Frenchie?"

and I am Canadian.

I have Scottish blood and French blood, but when it comes down to it -

I am Canadian.

And you cannot tell me otherwise because I have woken up at 5:30 AM to shovel 

and an hour later, my driveway will look exactly the same.

i have slipped on black ice and bruised my tailbone,

I have waited for the bus in -17 weather with the wind pounding my face

and you cannot tell me that I am not strong enough to  be Canadian.

Because you know what? Yes, my grandmother taught me French

But hell, look at Quebec for god's sake.

You cannot tell me that I am not Canadian just because 

the blood that sings through my veins is not Aboriginal.

Because you know what? I'll bet that your blood isn't First Nation's either.

It's European, because unless you're Métis, then you've got no excuse.

you encroached upon their territory.

So don't you dare tell me that I am not Canadien,

Don't you dare insinuate it.

I am, and always will be, a child of the North,

with its snow flurries

and its healthcare,

and the goddamn icicles.

but that is not all that we are.

we are stubbornness and politeness

and we are all different nationalities.

I may speak French as well as English, but I am just as Canadien as you are. 

The End

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