|INTRODUCTION|

My Canada

I’M AN ACTOR, A WRITER, a producer, a director, a husband and a father, but no description of me is complete without saying that I’m a Canadian.

Legend has it that the late, great Canadian comedian John Candy was at Pearson Airport in Toronto one day when a baggage handler came up to him and said, “Wow, John Candy. Let me ask you something, John—why is it that when all you Canadian comedians make it big, you move down to the States?”

John Candy replied, “Actually, I live north of Toronto.”

And the baggage handler said, “Aw, that’s too bad. I thought you made it big, eh?”

That’s what it is to be a famous Canadian, because Canadians aren’t used to fame. Canada is not a famous country. The world knows nothing about us. Unlike America and Britain, our culture is not a culture for export.

John Candy was the first comedic actor in Hollywood history to be paid $1 million a movie. He was also known to be the most approachable person in the history of Hollywood. Supposedly, he was so approachable that in order to keep his films on schedule, the producers had to call him to the set half an hour earlier than they actually needed him, because he would stop and talk to every person that came up to him. He was genuinely interested in all who spoke to him because he didn’t think he was better than anybody. He was a sweetheart.

In 1992, I had the great honour of meeting John Candy at Wayne Gretzky’s restaurant, aptly named Wayne Gretzky’s Toronto. I saw him from across the restaurant, but I was too starstruck to go over and say hello. He spotted me and came to my table (which blew my mind), and congratulated me on Wayne’s World, which had just come out. He and Gretzky had just bought the Toronto Argonauts of the Canadian Football League. He was so generous of time, spirit, and encouragement. I had loved him as a performer, and now I loved him as a person. He was…Canadian: self-deprecating, unassuming, polite, considerate. He left this parting advice: “Never buy a sports team.”

He was one of the greatest comedic actors ever, but he had no use for fame. Canadians are as capable of being starstruck as people from any other nation. But there is something in our character that distrusts fame. Marshall McLuhan, the famous Canadian intellectual who pioneered the field of media study, said of our homeland, “[Canadians are] the people who learned to live without the bold accents of the natural ego-trippers of other lands.”

Drake. I’m so proud that he’s Canadian. And I’m jealous of the brilliant way he gave T.O. a shout-out on his album cover by putting himself on the CN Tower. Well played, Drake, well played.

FAME IS A REAL EXPERIENCE, BUT IT’S NOT A CANADIAN EXPERIENCE, AND NOTHING ABOUT GROWING UP IN CANADA PREPARES YOU FOR A PUBLIC LIFE.

I’ve inherited the Canadian tendency of distrusting fame. Even though, ironically, I find myself, at the tender age of fifty-three, a public person. In this experience, I have learned that fame has no intrinsic value. I am grateful for it, of course, and I am much happier that it happened than I would be had it not happened. When I hear people complain about fame, it always sounds to me like, “Why do they pay me in gold bars? Gold bars are so heavy.” But fame is not creativity, it’s the industrial disease of creativity. Fame is a real experience, but it’s not a Canadian experience, and nothing about growing up in Canada prepares you for a public life.

I only lived in Canada from 1963 until 1983, a mere twenty years. I have now lived outside of Canada for thirty-three years. I have indelible memories of my Canadian life, and since my departure I have been doing my best to keep track of my beloved country. My Canadian-ness affects every aspect of my being. My American friends once accused me of enjoying being Canadian. Guilty as charged.

Here’s what is not going to be in this book: it is not going to be current with what’s happening in Canada, especially in the arts. It’s impossible to keep current about Canada when you live in the States, because even though we share the longest undefended border on earth, and we’re each other’s biggest trading partners, and NATO allies, and NORAD counterparts, you never hear any news about Canada when you live in the States.

At all.

Ever.

There was already a Mike Myers in Canadian Actors’ Equity. I added the “J.” as a nod to Michael J. Fox.

Other things not in this book: any reference to the Meech Lake Accord. I’m not going to mention the Group of Seven painters, though I love them very much. There is nothing about the seal hunt (or seal harvest—tomato, tomahto). It will not contain a detailed account of Canada’s shameful treatment of its Native people and the ongoing, complicated struggle to define and demark the relationship therein. I will right now, however, mention that, as progressive as Canada is, we are the only country to have actually completed a genocide against an indigenous people. The Beothuk were the indigenous people of Newfoundland. There is not one person left in the world who is fully Beothuk. They are all gone, forever. Shame. I’ll let other books deal with this serious topic.

More pointedly, this is not a definitive history of Canada, nor is it a comprehensive portrait, or even strictly a memoir.

This book is about my fifty-three-year relationship with Canada, one that, for me, continues to grow and deepen. We may not live in the same house, but I think about Canada every day, and my American friends wonder why I just don’t marry it already. I can’t. I looked into it.

Some will read this book and say, “Why didn’t you include this and why didn’t you include that?” And my only response to those who feel that this book is missing something is to encourage them to write their own book, share their own story, which I would love to read.

As much as I love talking about my relationship with Canada, I’m always fascinated to hear what’s going on for other Canadians. It’s a unique experience to grow up in Canada, and when I explain it to non-Canadians, I feel like I am describing a dream I had, because the Canadian experience is not well known outside of Canada. But in describing this dream, I can tell you it’s the opposite of a nightmare—it’s a happy dream.

In 1967, Canada turned 100 years old. People all around the country made Centennial projects to honour this milestone. This book is my Centennial project, which I’m handing in a little late…sorry. But it will be on time for the Canadian Sesquicentennial. In 2017, Canada will turn 150. Happy birthday, Canada. Even after all these years, I still love you.