Homecoming Part I

I'll be honest, when we were growing up Mom was nuts. But one thing that she did particularly well in raising us was that she gave us a strong sense of national pride and patriotism. Maybe it was intentional, or maybe it was because everyday we'd hear her gripe and rant about how much the States sucked. In either case, out of all this my siblings and I maintained a strong patriotic sense: we are Canadians and we are damn proud of it.

Now, it's been about 25 years since I've been home to Canada (I've been too poor to make it back). A friend's wedding in Ottawa prompted Richel and I to visit and thus visit the homeland. And even though it was the homeland, it was a part of Canada that I have never been to.

Arriving at the Pierre Trudeau Airport in Montreal was quite refreshing, as all the signs were in French and people were speaking French for a change. For a French-speaker, I guess that would be somewhat refreshing after being swamped with Spanish for the past 20 years and not understanding a word of it. But I guess for non French-speakers it could be nerve-racking. To me it was like a breath of fresh cool air after being couped up in a small locker room with 10 sweaty hockey players after a game and no ventilation in the middle of summer. Take a deep breath!


(St.-Jean Blvd. North) --(40 West Hull/Ottawa)


It was odd, but as Richel and I strolled down the street during a hot and humid afternoon in Ottawa, I looked up at some of the buildings and the skyline and behold! I was filled with a sense of awe and wonder and strange humility almost to the point of stopping in my tracks and gasping. It felt as though I was in the presence of royalty without realizing exactly who or where the royal party was. It was more like a sixth sense, an innate ability to recognize magnificence without fully understanding it. For there atop the tallest buildings flew the great red maple leaf, dominating the sky with its crimson brilliance. O' beloved Canada, I am home.