By: Erin O’Toole
Listen up, Canadians: I know that some of you, especially the radical left, want Canada Day cancelled because of the recent discoveries of thousands of Indigenous children in unmarked graves outside of residential schools. And yes, that’s all very horrifying, but you know what else is horrifying?
If Canada Day gets cancelled, how am I supposed to remember where I live?
No, seriously. If I don’t throw open my window on July 1st and see throngs of red and white-clad citizens proudly stocking their coolers with Molson Canadian in preparation for going to a parade, I am genuinely concerned that I’ll think I’ve suddenly been transported to some far-off, exotic country, like the US, or Narnia. And if there isn’t a fireworks display, so help me god, I forget Canada exists completely.
I’ve never admitted this to anyone before, but cancel culture has forced my hand: if I don’t make out with the Canadian flag for at least five sensuous minutes every morning, I actually start believing I live in Germany. And Germany is a horrifying place! They actually take their history of genocide seriously there! I can’t deal with that!
Besides, people protesting Canada Day just refuse to see the good with the bad. The good being “remembering Canada is a place that physically exists and is real, and safe for most white people”, and the bad is “me wandering around Parliament Hill asking strangers where my house is until someone feeds me maple syrup and shows me a picture of John A. Macdonald on a fancy horse”.
I can’t stay silent anymore. Because if I stay silent, then how will I ask someone for directions to my house after I’ve forgotten which province I’m currently in? Is it Manitoba? Quebec? Christ, please don’t tell me I live in New Brunswick.
Quick, someone hum the Hockey Night in Canada theme song and bring me back to my senses!
Jesus Christ is King
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