My Winnipeg and The War for North America

We have a strange relationship with Canada. We call them our neighbors to the north but really, we don't like sharing our continent with them. We scoff at the fact that most Canadians live so close to our border, as if clinging to us a like a scared girlfriend watching a horror movie. This land is NOT your land, Canada, this land is OUR land. And we're not the friendly type of neighbor, so quit looking over the fence at us.

I recently traveled to Winnipeg for a week of meetings with my job. Upon telling people of my intended travel to Canada, I was met with the same patronizing look someone gives you when you tell them you've just sat in traffic for two hours.

"Really? Oh, that sucks. Why?"

At first, I found myself matching the tone of their labored condolence, explaining dejectedly that it was "for work", but I didn't truly understand the origin of this intense pity. It goes without saying that our American ethnocentricity runs deeply, and there are few (if any) countries that truly escape our disdain. Even if we have to stand on our tippy-toes, we're looking down our nose at you. But, if the world was gym class (and really, it might as well be) we see Canada as the fat, slow kid that could never get to the top of the rope. We pick him last.

I decided an investigation was in order. I would use this trip as an opportunity to poke, prod, and perform what I considered to be a social autopsy on Canadians. I needed to expose (and possibly exploit) our differences.

What I found up north surprised me. Their blood was blue, they breathed (get this) air, they laughed. Just like us! I was fortunate to have encountered a slew of proud Winnepegians who I found to be friendly, intelligent, sincere, and down-to-earth. They inquired about the upcoming election, the state of our economy, and gas prices. It turns out that our neighbors to the north are quite privy to what goes on down here. Even the weather reports don't stop at the border as they do in the States. I'd never noticed, but American weather maps stop curiously at our northern border, as if to say, "meh...don't care."

Embarrassed about my complete and utterly blatant lack of knowledge of Winnipeg and Canada in general, I became a bit uneasy when the inevitable break in the conversation would come, and I realized it was my turn to ask a question.

"So, I hear it gets pretty cold up here, huh?"

I cringed every time the words left my mouth. Asking a Winnipegian about the winter weather felt like asking a person on crutches how they broke their foot: you know they're going to tell you, but they're probably sick of talking about it. This is not to say, however, that they don't answer energetically, treating you like you were the first person to inquire about the weather in ages. Polite? Yes. But, it's more than that. They're also undoubtedly proud of their ability to withstand this seemingly cruel and unusual punishment Mother Nature has unfairly sentenced them with. And who can blame them?

There were stories. Epic winter tales that have lent themselves to embellishment, been honed to perfection, and told many times over. My favorite was the story about a fellow who, in his brash adolescence, cut the top off his first car so he could have a convertible. The story came complete with a histrionic reenactment of his subsequent (and somehow successful) attempts to brave the relentless and bitter winter.

I couldn't help but think to myself, where's the beef? Was there any merit to our reasoning for the way we view them? Surely, we hadn't condemned an entire nation because of its affinity for hockey and curling, had we? Was it the metric system? Or because they took longer to politely squirm free of British rule? Was it because, despite their sovereignty, they kept the Queen on their money? What WAS it?

The more I searched for differences between us, the more I realized how alike we were. What I found, as I almost always do when I travel, is that, geographical locale, language, and culture differences notwithstanding, people are people. It's not that complicated because, despite our heculean attempts to convince ourselves otherwise, people aren't that complicated. If we can share a species, we can certainly share a continent. And you never know, it might start to get lonely being the big kid holding the last dodgeball.