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.