Red, white and a little blue

I grew up with a set of dates that are so important I knew them as perfectly as my home phone number.  July 16, November 5, December 2, December 25, December 26, and December 29. Unlike Easter or Labour Day these dates remained constant and the countdown was as exciting as the day itself. Unilaterally birthdays meant presents. And cake, always cake. It had to be your birthday or Christmas to get the presents but everyone got to share the cake.
Over time the details would evolve and I’d spend less time fervidly making a homemade card and more time focused on finding the perfect gift my allowance could afford. 

I’m lucky I never had to share my birthday with anyone. This girl wasn’t evolved enough to be generous about her special day. But as much as I adore being celebrated I also love making a fuss over those I love. My fondest memory was the birthday I threw for my mom on her first visit to me in LA – a picnic with prosecco and Miriam Makeba at the Hollywood Bowl. I planned for weeks and was giddy with anticipation. It was a perfect night under the stars with her favorite singer.

My childhood list of notable dates expanded as national holidays and best friend birthdays joined the roster. November 11, Remembrance Day meant velvet poppies pinned on my coat. Later I’d learn about the wars and the veterans and layer that information onto the pretty adornment. The significance of the big summer celebrations of July eluded me at first. In my earliest days, July 1st and 4th were twinned days of lengthy long-distance phone chats between Mummy in Toronto and Aunty in New York. I discovered the barbecues, fireworks and televised specials were celebrating the countries’s birthdays. Sometimes I’d hear people refer to the 4th as Independence Day. I understood the pride of Jamaican independence celebrated on August 6th, but I marveled that these big, powerful (and white) nations had had yokes to shed to gain their sovereignty and dominion.

A strange shift happens with the more birthdays you accumulate. You add a new category to the notable dates calendar. Death anniversaries. There is less celebration and more rumination, and the corresponding birthday takes on a bittersweet flavour. My personal calendar has death days falling on the birthday of a favorite cousin and a dear friend. This makes for tricky emotions every year. There’s been a shift this year and I’m feeling tricky emotions our national celebrations. I’m less than celebratory about the July lies.

I am grateful for and love so much about these countries I call home and yet the lies must be called out. The fireworks can’t drown out the screaming skeletons in the closet.

Last month there was an overwhelming growth in the awareness of Juneteenth in the US. Racial inequity and bias have been constant headlines on both sides of the border. The debates over equality and freedom rage on. The history of injustices perpetrated against the indigenous and citizens of color is far too long. We need to do better and we need to acknowledge it. Without acknowledging the stolen land and kidnapped lives, are these fireworks any more than a looter’s riot? These bittersweet days of summer have got me feeling red, white and a little blue.