When I was little, I discovered that politics in Quebec is a matter of heart. Y'avait smell like a referendum, which floated on the country. We were all affected by the question, Y'avait tension even among elementary students. I was in 4th grade. Worse in 4th year in Quebec, we learn all about Native Americans that have marked the history of Canada, then Quebec. It was really intense. That year I made sure of years of success and material facilities that I see in high school. It was in the thick of it. All year. With the story of the arrival of the white man, I understood what it was a country. What it can mean for a people. It was not cut into borders like that, just to be nice on the big globe with all these colors. It's a collective identity and can not escape it unless every person on earth really be willing to unite and follow the same laws to the letter without exception. It is still far off and remote travel increases as and when it is propelled in the opposite direction. Well, that was certainly not opine these words, but basically it was about the tension. It included, so young, the magnitude of the situation.
In each family, when it was time for supper, we discussed the possible referendum. Some were for, one not sure ... Then in my family every night, same ending. My mother told me not to talk politics with my friends. Never tell which way I was. Which side it was pretty. , She would vote NO. For some reason beyond. In the family of the mine, blue until the family soul, she loved her country. I always suspected of dubious stories of youth, adventure sloppy hippies. A small check mark in the belief family. Or simply to contradict everybody. This is my mother after all! She was the only family not to watch the Canadiens. She loved Chicago. With the Indian head on the sweater. That I had the right to speak, but I speak it. I found it rather shameful way. But politics, I understand it. Why she did not like Quebec? Because the Canadiens are a team in Quebec? I found it a bit odd.
One day, whereas the faculty as a reliable, having all the answers the world, I asked my teacher what would be his choice. We also never spoke to our class. I thought people wanted to avoid conflicts at work because of it. Taboo. She would not answer me and gave me the arguments on both sides. Arguments I had heard so often on television, or in my family, my mother and others. They were the best. When I got home for dinner, I talked to my mother. She told me that my mistress would vote no. Because when you vote no, you say it. It was like a disgusting disease, vote no. Since that day I never understood then why there were some who did.
People were, in real life, just like what we saw on TV. In the demonstrations and riots. The yes, Quebecers enthusiasts indulged in the blue wave of emotions, proud to call home. Non them, silent. It was like a shame, a perjury ... A betrayal. But for them, I think that deep down maybe it was just assumed wrong. There was graffiti everywhere. Nobody spoke, but speaking. Signs, huge and blue, the tiny, red and white, with writing black. They were almost severe those. People wanted to stand out. On large concrete blocks near the school, people had written "yes" to the aerosol red on each of them except one. A "no", in very dark green on the penultimate.
We all know the outcome of the referendum. We all know we have not really lost, but we did not win either. I look forward to my generation ale the same choice. I trust. When I saw my mother's mouth to get drunk for the first time in my life, with tears in his eyes was the announcement of his "victory" when I realized that there might be reasons for his "no" but basically, she believed in his country. Now she celebrates St. John, she loves Canadians as much as its heads of Indians. Today, if we return to this park, at the end or beginning the street and looking at the concrete blocks white-gray, we see that the first, there's still a big yes with a red hook next. Seems that there are even urban legends that circulate among school students about the provenance of this yea. That may be the ones who go through over a day with blue paint to mark independence. Because basically, it was perhaps no words, a second "to next time ... "
