TALKING TO AMERICANS

I like Americans, as much as I like anybody. At the risk of making sweeping generalizations, I find them to be friendly, outgoing people. Friendlier than Canadians, who are polite and kind, but not nearly as gregarious. I spent the past week in the States; two of them, in fact: California (to golf) and Colorado (to ski), and I had dozens of conversations with American strangers, all initiated by them. Americans don’t think twice about asking you where you’re from, what you do, how you like it there, and how long you’ll stay. They think Canada is cold, but suggest that our people are surprisingly hot: Justin Trudeau, Tessa and Scott, the Ryans Gosling and Reynolds. It being the second week of the Winter Olympics, we took some ribbing about losing the Gold in Women’s Hockey to the U.S. Ah well. Let them have that. For now.

There were two subjects that could not be broached: Trump and gun control. It was the week after the massacre in Parkland, Florida, the 17^th school shooting in the U.S .in 45 days. When we arrived, flags everywhere were at half-mast, but they found their way back up the pole by the time we left. The Mueller investigation into Trump’s alleged shenanigans was front page news, but it wasn’t something you’d bring up on the ski lift. California is a blue state, and Colorado has recently taken a sharp turn in that direction, but both states welcome visitors from all over, which means you never know who you’re talking to: a tree hugging hipster from Portland, or a card carrying NRA supporter from Houston. Despite the friendly veneer, every conversation is a potential minefield. As a left leaning Canadian, I trod carefully, for fear of being jailed as a Communist.

Of course I exaggerate. But America is no longer the bastion of free speech that it once was, no matter what nonsense its President likes to tweet. The second amendment seems to be smothering the first. Outside the media, people are so divided, polarized and downright exhausted that they avoid discussing the two most pressing issues of the day. They are the elephant in the room, the insane wife in the attic, the War in Fawlty Towers. I had only one direct encounter on the subject of gun control. It was with an older gentleman on the ski lift. We started talking about self-driving cars, of all things, when he told me that they’d never work in Texas. “No”, he said, “they’re not gonna take away our cars”. I assured him that no one would take away his car. Then he said “they’re not gonna take away our guns either”. Blinking, I suggested that the two were separate issues. “No”, he replied, “They’re both basic human rights”. Hmmm. More blinking on my part. “Not where I come from”, I told him, proudly, and maybe a little smugly. “I’m Canadian”. He just looked at me and harrumphed. “Canada”, he said, witheringly, like it’s barely a place, let alone a country.

Then I pushed him off the lift.

Of course I exaggerate. I did no such thing. I’m Canadian, so I wished him a pleasant afternoon, and the best of luck riding shotgun in a new, driverless world.

TALKING TO AMERICANS

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