Bad citizen though it doubtless makes me, I've always found Canada Day pretty underwhelming. Sure, I've always enjoyed the day off. But how, I've always thought, can it measure up to the mouth-watering feasts of Christmas and Thanksgiving, the costumes and parties of Halloween, the green beer and carousing of St. Paddy's Day?
Even its fireworks - the one notable Canada Day event in Vancouver, where I grew up - have long been hopelessly outclassed by the budget and mastery of the true Vancouver summer fireworks event: the once-Symphony of Fire, now Celebration of Light.
But beyond doubting the day's festive trappings, there was something else: unlike my American relatives, who seem to feel this pure patriotic pride as they scarf down watermelon and ice cream at 4th of July picnics and barbecues, Canada Day conflicts me.
What does the concept of "Canada" mean for a motley nation of immigrants and First Nations, sprinkled across vast swaths of prairie, mountains, coastal areas and even tundra? What links all our subcultures, language groups and individual histories? And locally, what does the concept of "Canada" mean for the chip-on-its-shoulder, Eastern-Canada-always-forgets-us West Coast?
Living in Ottawa during grad school, I discovered that our nation's capital doesn't feel this angst. There, if nowhere else in Canada, a city lies at the foot of Parliament Hill, metaphorically as well as physically. All over the city, Canadian flags fly high and proud. In the streets, French really does mingle with English, as per the Canadian dream of bilingualism. And while all over North America, celebrity gossip hones in on the latest Hollywood scandals and misdemeanours, Ottawa's tabloids were obsessed - back in 2006 - with the shattered all-Canadian political romance between then-Minister of Foreign Affairs Peter MacKay and Conservative-turned-Liberal MP Belinda Stronach.
So yes, I learned: the concept of "Canada" makes perfect sense in the land of federal bureaucrats and visits from Queen Elizabeth.
But here on the West Coast, it's an entirely different proposition. Far from our country's capital, we may always be forced to wrestle with the concept of nationhood and strain to see what holds this country together, from sea to sea to sea.
Except this year.
Because this year, for Vancouver, for the West Coast, for the Sunshine Coast, was a game changer. This is the post-2010 Olympics world. This is the year when we discovered warmth and camaraderie and, yes, Canadian patriotism on the streets of Vancouver. This is the year staid West Coasters stampeded The Bay to buy sweatshirts, hats and other paraphernalia emblazoned with the word "Canada." This is the year when, for 17 brief days, linked by TV and Internet from sea to sea to sea, we weren't just the forgotten West Coast - we were Canada.
And four months later, we still feel it.
So even as the international community is looking askance at our nation for last Saturday's ugly clashes between police car-burning G20 protestors and Toronto police, I'm actually inclined - for the first time since I can remember - to get out and wave a little paper Canada flag and celebrate this day.
Not because it has the best feast or the best costumes or the best green beer, but because for once I don't just think I live in the best country in the world - I feel it. And there's nothing underwhelming about that.
