Comment: Tolerate me for what I am — a colonial (TIMES COLONIST)

Today I’m coming out as a ­colonial. It’s who I am, and I won’t deny my identity as a ­colonial any longer.

 

I’ve always been a colonial — from even before I knew I was one. But today I’m declaring it publicly: a colonial is who I am, and I’m proud of my identity.

 

I was born in a thrice-colonially named place: Victoria. British. Columbia. When I was just four years old, I sat on the curb on Douglas Street for a parade celebrating the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II, and I waved my little Union Jack.

 

Yes, that’s a flag I’m still proud of, along with that other great flag, the red and white one with the maple leaf on it. (No contradiction there!)

 

I attended schools named for people and places in (or from) what back then was still often called the Old Country: ­Doncaster, Lansdowne, (Mount) Douglas. And I was proud to do so.

 

At home, when I was growing up, my family subscribed to a newspaper called The Victoria Daily Colonist ...

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