(This was originally published in February, perhaps the least favourite month in Canada. I thought it only fitting to post this today; Canada Day. The photograph is French Canadian: it was taken in Nice.)

Attending a meeting recently at the Canadian Embassy here in Budapest, I found myself staring at the typographic Canadian logo that anchored each slide in a PowerPoint presentation. We have a few typographic versions of the word “Canada” that have made their way into the official typographic lexicon of how we present this nation.

Like any good word mark, Canada’s elicits an emotional response. As I stared at that word mark I found myself thinking what that word represents and I thought it only fair to share this with you. If anyone from my embassy is reading this right now I can assure you they are thinking but one thought: “Uh-oh. What’s he going to say now?” 
One of my life-long frustrations about being a Canadian is how we define ourselves. It is a simple definition and it has stood the test of time through changing political landscapes and vastly differing psyches of different generations. Distilled to its core essence the timeless definition of a Canadian is simple: A Canadian is not an American. 
And a rock is not a tree. 
Although the thought of what I am about to write may cause those in my embassy here either embarrassment or horror, allow me the audacity to define a Canadian in such a way that requires no comparison to the woolly mammoth to our south.  
Consider this a public service initiative on my part. No problem. You’re welcome.

Dysfunctional parents

First of all Canada is a very young country. We endured our birth parents’ (England and France) constant bickering and fighting (I give you the 100 Year War) and we largely ignored our “grandparents”, native Canadians. That we are only now beginning to understand the wisdom our grandparents had about the land on which we chose to live speaks more to our maturing than any inadequacy on their part. Like many grandparents they had wisdom that their grandchildren failed to understand. We’re getting there.

More often than not, a Canadian is a voice of reason. Amid the absurdity, madness and petty agendas that so often get the better of us human beings, Canadians will more often than not hold steady on a course of reason. Not always. But certainly more often than the norm. 
We are compassionate and if the truth be told, sometimes to a fault. But we would rather be guilty of too much compassion than guilty for lack of it. That’s just who we are.

Remember Trudeaumania?

Pierre Trudeau, one of our longest-serving Prime Ministers, introduced and rammed into us the concept of “tolerance”. Funny word, isn’t it? At first blush one might think that setting one’s sights on being “tolerant’’ is setting one’s  sights a little low. Is that the best you can do? Be tolerant? Being tolerant means “I’ll put up with you”.  But he might have been onto something, that crafty little fella. 
Set achievable objectives. If the objective would have been to have Canadians embrace every culture and every religion that this diverse planet has grown, it would surely have met with failure. Seeing the level of intolerance in the world still today one can better understand and appreciate Trudeau’s vision.

Today Canada is the most multicultural nation in the world. Canada is the United Nations with the difference that it is populated not with diplomats but with real people living real lives. Canada is building the model of what the world will have to become if the world is to have any hope at all.
 Having said all that, the one Canadian trait I love the most is that we tend to be funny. If you look at the amount of “American” comedy that originated with Canadians you might be surprised. You might also be surprised by this little trick question: What is the third-largest Canadian city by population? No, it is not Vancouver. It is Los Angeles. At least it was a few years ago. And I did warn you that it was a trick question. “Canadian” means citizen.

I love living in Budapest. I love it a lot. But I am very proud of where I come from and who we are as people, quirks and all. I even like our typefaces. 
My name is William. But you can call me Vilmos. And I am a Canadian.