Joe and Nelly are sitting in a little East Van café, talking about identity and what it means to belong somewhere.
Joe leans back and says:
“Hey Nelly, have you ever seen The Good Shepherd? There’s a scene with Joe Pesci where he says something interesting. He says he’s not Italian — he’s American. That line stuck with me.”
Nelly raises an eyebrow. “Why?”
Joe shrugs.
“Because that’s how I feel sometimes. My parents came from Croatia, sure. But I was born here. On July first. Canada Day. That makes me Canadian, not Croatian.”
He taps the table for emphasis.
“I could go back to some tiny country in Europe and try to play strongman politics. Maybe become some little dictator. But that’s not my mentality. I’m Canadian. I believe in democracy, not dictatorship. I believe in peacekeeping, not warmongering.”
Nelly nods slowly.
“Well,” she says, smiling, “I understand that. My family came from Portugal. I like my Portuguese flag. It’s part of who I am.”
She pauses.
“But I was born here too. In Canada. This is my country.”
Joe laughs. “Exactly.”
Nelly continues.
“If Canada is in trouble, I’m not going to turn tail and run back to Europe. This is home. My friends are here. My memories are here. My music career started here.”
Joe points at her.
“See? That’s what I’m talking about. Being Canadian isn’t about where your grandparents were born. It’s about what you stand for.”
Nelly nods again.
“Yeah. Democracy. Community. Looking out for each other.”
Joe grins.
“And peacekeeping,” he adds. “That’s the Canadian way.”
Nelly raises her coffee cup.
“To Canada.”
Joe raises his.
“To Canada.” 🇨🇦