It is an enduring stereotype that describes Canadians as too polite. I see that idea challenged regularly by road ragers on Canadian highways, but, in general, it seems to be true that we are a patient nation.
I don’t have to look far to find proof of the too polite notion. On Sunday, I went out in my backyard with the weekly flyers from two hardware stores. Others have their novels; I have my flyers. As a consumer, I am always on the lookout to consume something, but I want to do it as cheaply as possible.
I didn’t get too far along in my reading when a family member dropped in. When I got up for some reason, he sat down in my chair. No worries, as they say in Australia. I chose another chair.
As we chatted, I started loading up our firepit with twigs to maybe get a little inferno going. My guest loves fires and immediately got in on the act. If he somehow ended up on the moon, he’d have a campfire going within an hour of leaving his spacecraft.
Eager to help, he picked up my unread flyers and started ripping them to pieces and rolling them up, sticking them under the twigs in preparation for starting the blaze.
Now, this is where I realized how Canadian I really am. I didn’t say a word as I watched my cherished unread, colourful flyers disappear. Ten feet away, there was a box of old papers that could have been used, but I just couldn’t bring myself to ask the flyer shredder to stop destroying my reading material.
It was a nice fire my family and I enjoyed Sunday night.
I was a little quieter than I normally am.
My chance at hardware greatness had been put on hold. And, of course, I had only myself to blame. I certainly couldn’t blame anyone else. If I was tempted to do so, I would have to do that silently because blurting out accusations against others just wouldn’t be polite.
Sometimes being a Canuck can be a touch aggravating.
Sorry. (Gotta work in at least one sorry.)
Did I say that out loud?
©2021 Jim Hagarty
