One day my sister came home with her hair shorn and spiked
and with a record under her arm called Never Mind the Bullocks
Here’s the Sex Pistols. We dropped the needle on the record,
turned up the volume and sat on our front steps. I handed her the
scissors and my hair blew away in the wind.
Though we dreamed about living some place cool and edgy like
London or New York, we lived in a sleepy port town that we
thought no one had ever heard of called Vancouver, British Columbia.
It was a place of big trees, salmon and totem poles.
Then in the early 80s, some politicians and businessmen decided
that Vancouver should host a world’s fair. Then suddenly, Vancouver,
the little colonial seaside town, was trying its best to act
like a grown-up world class city. Even the Expo 86 theme song
declared, “Something’s happening here!” To most of us, all that
bravado seemed a little much for our little logging and fishing
port. We all knew that bravado was just to cover up that Vancouver
was still a little kid of a city.
So in a way, the city I lived in was just like me: a teenager trying
to grow up fast, be something she is not, yearning to be something
or someplace else. All the while not realizing the richness
of what she is or has. Thankfully, some of that old Vancouver is
forever lost and thankfully some of that old Vancouver is still
there; Just like that teenage girl I used to be.
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