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I Am a Canadian
     
I am a Canadian,
free to speak without fear,
free to worship in my own way,
free to stand for what I think right,
free to oppose what I believe wrong,
or free to choose those
who shall govern my country.
This heritage of freedom
I pledge to uphold
for myself and all mankind.
Former Prime Minister John G. Diefenbaker
     

1

ON BEING
CANADIAN
     
O ne thing you know about Canadian people is they’re proud to be Canadian. My kids were born in the United States. They should be proud of their country and they are, but I’m a Canadian. I was born in Canada and I’m proud of my country. That never leaves you.
Wayne Gretzky
     

A Canadian’s Story
     
I liken Canada to a garden . . . a garden into which have been transplanted the hardiest and brightest flowers from many lands, each retaining in its new environment the best of the qualities for which it was loved and prized in its native land.
Former Prime Minister John G. Diefenbaker
     
    One day when I was seventeen my best friend, Shelley, invited me to her home after school to meet her grandmother. When we arrived, a slim, fragile-looking, elderly lady with white hair and many wrinkles greeted us warmly. In a thick accent she invited us to help ourselves to freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. While we ate she asked many questions about our personal lives and listened intently to our answers. We both felt her genuine interest, and in spite of her accent, we understood her clearly. Her piercing, deep-blue eyes sparkled as we talked, and her smile radiated a lifetime of inner strength and integrity. She captivated me.
    She noted how fortunate we were to have such beautiful clothes, nice furniture and time to spend with our friends. When she excused herself for a moment, Shelley and I stared at each other in astonishment at her grandmother’s appreciation of all the little things that we took for granted. In a whisper, Shelley explained that her grandmother had grown up in the Ukraine, where life had been very difficult. When she returned to the room, Grandma expressed her great pleasure in seeing all her children and grandchildren able to go to school and learn. When the conversation turned to my approaching eighteenth birthday, Grandma was thrilled and exclaimed how excited I must be at the thought of voting for the first time. Frankly, I had thought of all sorts of good things I would be able to do when I was eighteen, but voting wasn’t one of them. I told her so.
    A little saddened by my cynicism, Shelley’s grandmother asked in her broken English if I would like to hear the story of her journey to Canada. She said she had not shared the details with many people, including Shelley. When I agreed, she began to tell her tale.
    “Grandpa, myself and our six children lived in extremely modest conditions in the Ukraine. Everyone in the family who was old enough had to work. Our two eldest children were eight and ten. They did odd jobs for people who paid them with food rather than money.
    “The other four children were too young to work, so they helped me with the household chores. The government did not want the people to be independent and think for themselves, and to ensure this, they prevented us from attending any religious services and forced us to worship the government. They also banned reading and writing, closed all the schools and destroyed all the books that disagreed with their oppressive philosophy. Anyone caught not complying with the new, closed-minded edict was put in prison. In spite of these severe consequences, those who knew how to read