My Canadian Start Line

I stand on my Canadian start line.

A new passport in hand, a new home beneath my feet;

Years of training in my legs, centuries of history at my back. 

And before me, the race to run.

A path of possibility. 

A continuation of the legacy of two young heroes whose journey ended years before mine began, who are immortally 12 and 22 — only ever old enough to be my little brother, my nephew, or my son. 

A man named Fox. 

Body eroding, spirit enduring, running for a future he’d never see. 

Believing in what Canada could be:

A country that comes together for the sake of others.

A home of healing and community. 

And a small boy carrying the name Wenjack, lost and exposed, running, walking, and crawling to escape a present he should never have experienced;

Hounded by a past we must now grapple with.

A boy this country, my country stole from his community, his family, his history; 

A boy brave enough to hold onto the hope that home is a place we can all return to.

These are the heroes I follow, a boy with a man’s burden and a man with a boy’s faith. 

Although their race is run, they are my pacesetters and teachers who have shown me what’s best about those of us who call this land home.

These are the heroes I picture as the gun goes off and my race begins.