My toast

I have always considered myself a good Canadian kid. My birth certificate may state otherwise, I wasn’t born in Canada and am over the age of 25 (notice how I didn’t really date myself). As my Mum is one of my biggest readers, I must state for the record before I go any further that I am proud of my British heritage, I know that I “will never walk alone”, sorry Mum I couldn’t resist. Being a good Canadian kid is more than where you were born and how old you are, it’s about heart baby

A good Canadian kid rolls with the punches, takes one for the team, wins gracefully and looses with even more grace, puts on a brave face and will always find something to smile about even through the tears. We apologize, add an “eh?” to the end of our sentences, apparently say “aboot” (although I think that is an urban myth), travel well, have the option to ski on the mountains and swim in the ocean all in the same day, and judge distance by the time it takes us to get there not the number of kilometres (the Canadian equivalent of .62 miles). We are not divided by ethnicity or religion but by which coffee we drink, very simply you like Tim’s or Starbucks, there is only one obvious choice in my heart. We run in the rain, drive (sometimes poorly, depending on what coast you are from) in the snow and live for long Summer days.

So on this proud day for Canada and with a glowing heart, this good Canadian kid raises her glass of fine Okanagan wine and toasts our incredible athletes, fabulous volunteers and our fair nation and for the last time today cheers very loudly “woohoo”!