Today, Canada turns 159 years old.
That number makes me smile because one of my earliest Canada Day memories goes all the way back to 1967, when Canada turned 100. I had just finished Grade One, and I would turn seven later that same month.
That Centennial year was probably the first time I understood that Canada had a birthday — and not just any birthday, but an important one.
We were still living in Simcoe then, and the Centennial was a very big deal. As I remember it, about 100 children, mostly Grade Ones and possibly a few Grade Twos, were gathered together at the arena. We were going to become Canada’s birthday cake.
Each of us was told to bring a little penlight flashlight.
My dad took that assignment seriously. He went out and bought the penlight I was supposed to bring. I remember being told it was not a toy. We needed the battery to work when the big moment came, so I was not to play with it beforehand. I was also told not to lose it.
To a six-year-old, that little flashlight suddenly seemed very important.
When we arrived at the arena, there were children everywhere. There was noise, movement, and commotion. Teachers were organizing us, adults were watching, and I remember doing exactly what I was told. We lined up, followed instructions, and walked where we were supposed to walk.
We circled around and around until we formed a giant living birthday cake. The tallest children were likely toward the centre, with the smaller children around the outside where they could be seen.
Then came the signal.
One hundred little arms reached up, and 100 tiny lights came on.
We were Canada’s birthday candles.
To a six-year-old, it was magical.
It is funny what stays with us. I cannot tell you what I wore that day. I do not remember what we had for supper afterward, and I could not name all the children who stood beside me in that arena. But I remember my dad buying that penlight. I remember being told not to waste the battery. I remember being warned not to lose it. And I remember one hundred little lights reaching toward the ceiling.
Some memories simply decide they are worth keeping.
There were other Centennial memories too. My dad was a coin collector, so the Centennial was not just another year in our house. There were special Centennial coins, and I remember him setting some aside. I also have a memory of a special Centennial dollar bill, though I would have to check the details to be sure. At six years old, I was probably more interested in my penlight and colouring books than in coins and paper money, but now I understand why he saved them. He was collecting little pieces of Canadian history.
I also remember having a Centennial colouring book. I cannot recall every picture in it, but I do remember a Mountie on a horse waiting to be coloured. That feels fitting now. At six years old, Canada’s history came to me through simple things — a penlight, a colouring book, a school celebration, and grown-ups talking about events I only partly understood.
I remember hearing about Expo 67 too, though only in the vague way a six-year-old hears about grown-up things. I may have heard about it at school or from adults talking around me. I did not understand what it meant, but I understood that it was part of the excitement of Canada’s Centennial year.
My parents embraced that excitement.
They went to quite a few Centennial functions, often at the Legion and the Army, Navy & Air Force club with my aunt and uncle. My mom was a very capable seamstress. She sewed many of our clothes, did repairs, and could make something useful or beautiful out of fabric and thread. For her Centennial dress, she found a pattern somewhere and set to work. I remember watching her lay out the cloth and cut the pieces carefully.
At six years old, I would not have understood all the skill that went into that dress. I just knew Mom was making something special. Years later, I understood that she was not only sewing a costume. She was stitching herself into Canada’s Centennial celebration.
Dad grew a beard for the occasion, and my uncle grew one too. Dad wore an old suit that had been handed down through the family. I am not sure whether it had belonged to my grandfather or a great-uncle, but it had been tucked away in a family trunk for years. It was not actually 100 years old, but it looked the part, especially with the top hat he wore with it.
Together, my parents went to Centennial parties and sometimes came home with prizes for the best costumes.
They talked about those costumes for many years afterward. Mom’s 1867-style dress became part of family history all on its own. One year, my sister even wore it as a Halloween costume and won a prize. The judge called her Little Bo Peep, which probably was not historically accurate, but it was close enough to win.
That same summer, my sister and I had our tonsils out. In September, I began Grade Two at a different school because the school boundaries had changed. We hadn’t moved, but my school had. Suddenly, I was no longer with the friends I’d gone to school with in Simcoe. Then, just a few months later, at Christmas, our family really did move—this time to St. George.
Canada was beginning its second century, and my own little world was changing too.
Nearly 60 years have passed since then. Canada has changed. I have changed. The little girl carefully guarding her penlight grew up, became a nurse, raised a family, became a grandmother, and eventually retired.
And through all those years, Canada kept growing too.
Since that Centennial year, Canada has continued to make its mark on the world. We have celebrated Olympic Games in Montreal, Calgary, and Vancouver. We have watched Canadian athletes stand on podiums, Canadian musicians fill stadiums, Canadian scientists change lives, and Canadian technology travel into space.
We have seen the Canadarm become a symbol of Canadian innovation. We have been proud of the discovery of insulin and the lives it continues to save. We have watched Canadian actors, writers, comedians, artists, and musicians become known far beyond our borders.
But for me, some of the things that feel most Canadian are not simply accomplishments. They are values.
As a retired registered nurse, Medicare has always meant something deeply Canadian to me. It reflects our belief in fairness, equity, and shared responsibility. In Canada, rich and poor alike receive medically necessary hospital and physician care without having to pull out a credit card at the hospital door.
That does not mean our health care system is perfect. Anyone who has worked in it, depended on it, or waited for care knows it faces real challenges. But the principles on which it was built still matter.
The Canada Health Act is based on five guiding principles: public administration, comprehensiveness, universality, portability, and accessibility. Together, they reflect a belief that medically necessary care should be publicly funded, available to all eligible Canadians on equal terms, and continue to be available when we move or travel within Canada.
For me, that says something important about Canada. We may debate how best to improve our health care system, but the foundation remains a powerful one: care should depend on need, not wealth.
Canada’s story has also been told through kindness. I still think of Newfoundland and Labrador after September 11, when planes were diverted and strangers were welcomed, fed, comforted, and treated like neighbours. That story stayed with people around the world because it showed something Canadians like to believe about ourselves — that when help is needed, we show up.
Many people around the world later learned that story through the hit musical Come From Away, which brought the kindness of Gander and surrounding Newfoundland communities to audiences far beyond Canada. It reminded people that even in a time of fear and uncertainty, ordinary people can respond with extraordinary generosity.
Every once in a while, Canada comes together in a way that stays with us. The Centennial was like that. The Olympics were like that. Moments of tragedy and moments of celebration have both shown us what being Canadian can look like at its best.
Today, I watched the Canada Day celebrations from the nation’s capital on television. Prime Minister Mark Carney spoke from Ottawa, and during the celebration came the announcement that Canada will join the Eurovision Song Contest next year. Moments later, Canadian astronaut Jeremy Hansen was on stage.
It felt like a fitting Canada Day moment — music, space exploration, national pride, and a reminder that Canada’s story is still being written.
Canada Day celebrations change as we do.
When we are younger, we go where the crowds are. We wear red shirts, wave flags, sit in parks, listen to concerts, and stay until the fireworks light up the sky.
As we get older, the spirit is still willing, but the practical details become harder. The walk is too far. The heat is too much. The crowds are less appealing. Standing for long periods is no longer as easy as it once was.
But that does not mean we stop celebrating.
Today, watching the national celebration from home still made me feel connected. I could see the music, the speeches, the performers, the flags, and the crowds without having to walk through them.
And as it turned out, this Canada Day became memorable for an entirely different reason too.
We have been in the middle of heat and unsettled weather. The day started beautifully sunny, but it was sweltering outside — about 35°C, with the humidex well over 40. It was the kind of heat that makes you move a little more slowly and think carefully before going outside.
Glen went out to put sausages on the barbecue for supper, and I decided I might as well have a swim while he was cooking. I went and put my bathing suit on, came back, and he said, “It’s thundering.”
Before I knew it, the sky in one direction had turned almost black.
The wind whipped up.
The barbecue would not stay lit.
The sausages came inside to be finished, and the rain came down in sheets.
There were tree limbs down and power outages nearby. Our power only flickered, but other people close to us were without power for about an hour and a half. I could only imagine what it must have been like at community Canada Day celebrations, where people had gathered with lawn chairs, coolers, umbrellas, snacks, and children who were probably not ready for the fun to end.
Then, almost as quickly as it arrived, the storm moved on.
The sun came back out. The temperature dropped to 27°C. The air felt completely different.
But by then, the damage had been done. The community celebrations and fireworks had been cancelled.
Nearly 60 years ago, I stood in an arena with a little penlight in my hand, pretending to be one of Canada’s 100 birthday candles. I could not have imagined then where life would take me, or where Canada would go.
Now Canada is 159, and I have grandchildren about the same age I was then.
I wonder what they will remember about Canada Day. Will it be fireworks? A flag? A family barbecue? A storm that rolled in suddenly and changed everyone’s plans? Or will it be some small detail that seems ordinary now but stays with them for the rest of their lives, the way a little penlight has stayed with me?
That is how memories work. We rarely know, in the moment, which ones will last.
I have watched Canada grow from 100 to 159.
I have watched celebrations move from arenas and parks to television screens and back decks. I have watched the country change, welcome new people, face challenges, celebrate victories, and keep reaching for something better.
And somehow, every July 1 still feels a little like a birthday — not just for the country, but for the memories we have made along the way.
Nearly 60 years ago, I remembered a little flashlight.
This year, I will remember the thunder.
Happy Birthday, Canada.
I would love to know: what is your favourite Canada Day memory?