This week marks a special and culturally-significant first on Canadian calendars everywhere across this great land.
No, it isn't Halloween just yet. That's at the end of NEXT month.
No, it isn't National Falafel Day, National Tater Tot Day, National Gummi Bear Day, or any other of those ridiculous, out-of-seemingly-nowhere food days that are undoubtedly cooked up in a board room just to sell us certain groceries on certain days of the year.
No, this coming Thursday, September 30 will mark the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation, a time in which the brutal and largely untold history of our country's First Nations people will be spotlighted, and a time in which the horrifically unjust treatment of First Nations children by white generations will be remembered.
It's been left up to businesses and schools to determine how they mark the day, which I think is a good start. Leave it in the hands of Canadians from coast to coast and don't mandate anything because that would be a recipe for disaster. I'm fairly confident we'll see some pretty special things coming out of the day.
Living in this country, and notably, living here on the Prairies, our interactions with First Nations people are pretty common. We may have even grown up with them, which was the case in my family. My oldest brother Jim was adopted by my dad Jack not long after he was born in 1970. Sure, he looked a little bit different and he didn't have the same skin colour as any of his siblings, but that didn't matter at all to my dad and those other siblings. They loved Jim with all their heart and made him feel a part of the Ruttle clan instantly.
By the time I came along in 1985, it wasn't long before I had taken a shine to Jim, who gave me the nickname Smiley. I became very close to him as I grew up, forming a bond that can only be described as authentically familial. What else can a guy say? Family doesn't always have to be blood. We're family, and there are no asterisks or special terminology required. He's First Nations, I'm Caucasion, but in my heart, we're blood. End of discussion.
The world has seemingly changed since the day a major spotlight was put on the unmarked graves that were discovered near Kamloops in BC earlier this year. I won't say it was a positive change, or a negative one for that matter, but there has been a change nonetheless.
I saw the change firsthand as I covered the events of Canada Day back on July 1 in Outlook. That afternoon on the main floor of the Rec Plex facility, I sat with my brother in the front row together with a sizable audience as First Nations hoop dancer Terrance Littletent performed. There were groups of people here and there wearing orange to mark the discoveries of further grave sites. There were eyeballs absolutely glued to every dance and every such movement that Littletent made in that building. My God, there was just such a sense of empathy and understanding from everyone with what was being talked about seemingly day in and day out on the 6:00 evening news. By the time Terrance had finished his performance, it felt as if the Earth had moved a few degrees just by the sheer power of what we all had seen, coupled with the raw, quivering emotions running in so many peoples' hearts at the time.
The rhythm of Littletent's dancing and the yelping, spirit-awakening noises produced in his performance might still echo within the walls of the Rec Plex to this day, for all I know.
Here's the thing - as a kid, I made the jokes. I've given in to the tasteless humor we're bombarded with while growing up in this rural part of the country. I've looked at the people in Saskatoon's West side and rolled my eyes more times than I can count. I've listened to the infamous Brocket 99 (if you aren't familiar, feel free to look it up - has to be read to be believed). There, I said it. I'm not hiding any of my past prejudices. I've been on the wrong side of things more than a time or two while growing up. That's why it's called "growing up", you see. Because you have to make the mistakes, say the wrong things, and end up eating some crow or your own left foot before you see that other side of the fence and truly start to understand both sides of any issue.
But I'm older now, a little more grey up top, and I've had more than a fair share of "LIFE" thrown at me. I certainly don't have all the answers and I'm most definitely not saying that anyone should listen to me when it comes to certain topics such as this one, but I'm just saying this - I get it. I understand. I empathize. I'll do my part and do better.
National Day for Truth and Reconciliation, September 30; what do you even call this day in the most basic of terms? I have difficulty calling such a day a 'holiday' so to speak, just as I do with labeling the same term to Remembrance Day every November.
Sure, maybe you don't have class that day and maybe you don't have to go into the office, but just do us all a little favor and read the room, okay? Do something to contribute to the day's intended meaning and spirit. Take a moment and read something or watch something in order to gain some knowledge of the trials and tribulations faced by First Nations. Talk to someone with First Nations heritage and ask some questions, perhaps gaining a little empathy. Hell, I'll even allow something rather pedestrian and suggest that you throw on some orange and snap a picture for your Facebook or Twitter page. Whatever supports the cause and contributes to the conversation in a good way. Hey, you gotta start somewhere.
On Thursday, the healing for many First Nations people may begin. There's no telling when it will end, or rather, if it ever truly will.
Maybe some wounds just aren't meant to heal.
For this week, that's been the Ruttle Report.
