Author: Joe Canuck

Joe leans back on the bench in the park, the sun filtering through the trees, no phones in sight, just the sound of kids laughing somewhere in the distance. He looks at Nelly and her girls, all of them breathing fresh air, away from the glow of screens, the constant buzz of EMF and WiFi.

“Being a gym rat sucks the big one,” Joe says with a grin, shaking his head. “All that grinding indoors, staring at mirrors and metal, pumping iron like it’s the only religion. Nah. This is better. Spend the day at the park like this—away from screens, away from EMF, away from WiFi. Real life, real air, real people.”

He pauses, eyes lighting up with the memory. “Remember the old days in East Van? Tom Cruise—yeah, that Tom Cruise—back when he was just a kid running around here. We didn’t stare at screens all day. We’d play. Tom was very good at entertaining us without money. Kid had energy, man. He’d make up games, get everyone laughing, running, chasing. No apps, no likes, just pure fun. That’s how we grew up.”

Joe claps his hands together. “So here’s what we do: forget arguing on the internets. Go play laser tag instead. Settle the battle of the sexes that way. Boys versus girls, full on. With a laser, a woman is just as dangerous as a boy—no excuses, no holding back. Equal firepower, equal chaos. Winner takes bragging rights, loser buys the ice cream after.”

He looks around at all of them, voice getting a little deeper, more serious but still warm. “And listen—we are all Canadian on unceded land. Doesn’t matter where our families came from before. We’re here now. I don’t want any grudges or hate between Drake and Schwarzenegger over World War 2. No Croat and Serb hate. None of that old world poison following us here.”

Joe spreads his arms wide, like he’s embracing the whole park, the whole city, the mountains in the distance.

“India and Pakistan over Kashmir. Greeks and Turks over Cyprus. Armenians and Turks over the past. Israelis and Palestinians. Russians and Ukrainians. Chinese and Japanese over history. Koreans and Japanese. Serbs and Bosniaks. Serbs and Albanians. Irish Catholics and Protestants. French and English in Canada back in the day. Hutus and Tutsis. Sunnis and Shias. Poles and Germans. Poles and Russians. Hungarians and Romanians. Vietnamese and Chinese. Ethiopians and Eritreans. Georgians and Abkhazians. Azeris and Armenians. Indians and Bangladeshis. Peruvians and Chileans. Bolivians and Chileans. Argentines and British over the Falklands. Catalans and Spaniards. Kurds and Turks. Kurds and Iraqis. Kurds and Syrians. Scots and English. Basques and Spaniards. Tamils and Sinhalese in Sri Lanka. Tibetans and Chinese.”

He takes a breath, letting it all sink in.

“But here’s the truth the Great Spirit brought us to Turtle Island for: to make peace. All these old hatreds, all these ancient fights from every corner of the world—they don’t belong here. The Creator, the Great Spirit, gathered us on this land, this Turtle Island, so we could drop the grudges, breathe the same air, play the same games, build something new together. No more carrying the weight of old wars across the ocean. We’re Canadian now. We’re here to heal, to laugh, to run around with lasers like kids again. To be equals. To be one people under the sky, on unceded land, making peace instead of war.”

Joe smiles big, standing up and stretching. “So who’s up for laser tag? Boys, girls, doesn’t matter—let’s see who’s really dangerous.”

The girls laugh. Nelly shakes her head but she’s smiling too. The park feels lighter already. No screens. Just life. Just peace on Turtle Island.