It was a very Canadian moment.

It happened a few weeks ago, when George W. Bush was visiting my city: Halifax, Nova Scotia. We’d been told on short notice that Mr. Bush was coming to our quiet corner of Canada to deliver a “major policy speech.” We were also told that he was coming to thank Atlantic Canadians for opening their hearts and homes during 9/11, when many Americans were grounded here.

At least, that was the cover story.

The problem with the cover story? The President’s “thank-you” was noticeably three years late. And his “major policy speech” turned out to be an odd collage of tired clichés. (Have you heard the one about the elephant sleeping with the mouse? Or the one about the two good friends and the longest undefended border in the world?) In truth, George W. Bush came to Halifax because he had to visit some city in Canada. And, on the whole, Maritime Canadians aren’t the type to throw soft tomatoes and store bought eggs at foreign leaders – not even at the despicable ones. So Halifax it was.

Mind, many Nova Scotians did plan to protest, despite the local newspapers’ call for “respect” and “dignity” during the presidential visit, and despite the Nova Scotia Premier’s similar condescending nonsense about showing the president our famous “maritime friendliness.” But my own protest was something more spontaneous.

On the morning of Mr. Bush’s visit, a student at my school noticed that the street in front of our school was filling with cars. Intrigued, I left the building and walked along the sidewalk to the main street. An RCMP officer standing there told me that the intersections along the main road were being closed to ensure an open route for the coming presidential limousine and entourage.

“You mean, the President of the United States is driving by,” I said, “here.”

“Yup, in about twenty minutes,” said the officer.

I took a deep breath. For more than four years I’d labouriously written thousands of words – numerous essays and countless personal letters – about the chaos and misery that George W. Bush and his politics had delivered to this world. And for four years I'd struggled with my relationship to America, the home of my birth and my young adulthood. And I'd struggled with two hard-fought, lost elections. Now, George W. Bush, the agent of all that misery and expended energy, was here, about to pass five feet from me. So, although I wasn't sure what I would do, I waited.

While I stood there, an old man approached me. Tall and thin, he looked to be in his late sixties or early seventies. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked.

“President Bush is coming this way,” I said.

He smiled and said, “Really? Isn’t that nice.” He adjusted his wire-rim glasses and looked up the street.

I glanced at him. He wore a blue ball cap, a yellow wind breaker, and white sneakers – a comfortable retiree. I guessed.

“I’m not so sure it’s nice,” I said, looking back up the street. “I guess it depends on your point of view.”

“How so?” he asked.

So I explained. I explained my thoughts about Mr. Bush and his politics. And I explained that I was angry. Very angry.

The old man took a breath. He thought for a moment. Then, in a tired voice, he talked about his politics, about his service in World War II, about his work as an engineer, about his a family, and about his growing up in Halifax. And finally, he said that he didn’t agree with my “leftist” politics. But then he added, “Though you seem to be a nice young man.” He extended his hand. “I’m Angus.”

“I’m Steven,” I said taking his hand, “pleased to meet you.”

Now, it’s one of the wonderful quirks of conversations in Nova Scotia that discussions about divisive political or social issues occur with the same emotional intensity of a discussion about the weather. In fact, perhaps because winter in most of Canada is a difficult and deeply felt collective experience, discussions of weather are often the more passionate than discussions about politics. And though we had just fundamentally disagreed about the major social and political issues of the day, Angus and I did something very Canadian: with a shared belief in common civility, we simply agreed to disagree.

Still, I was concerned that I was about to test this pleasant Canadian calm. With moments to go before the limousine was to pass by, I told Angus that I planned to share my strong feelings with Mr. Bush. Angus smiled, and he told me that he planned to do the same. Just then, the president’s convoy turned the corner and headed our way.

Three brown SUVs raced by, each with four serious looking men wearing serious looking sunglasses. Then the long, black presidential limo came into view. In the darkened window, I could see a smiling face and a waiving hand. It was George W. Bush.

So I quickly lifted my arm at the elbow, stared hard at the car, and offered the President of the United States my middle finger. And right next to me, Angus also quickly lifted his arm at the elbow. And he waved too – but with all his fingers.

I can only imagine how incongruous an image this must have seemed to the American President: an old man, dressed casually, smiling and giving a friendly wave; and standing right next to him, a relatively young man, dressed formally, grimacing and giving the finger.

When the cars, and vans, and SUVs were gone from sight, I turned to Angus and offered my hand. He took it and said he’d enjoyed our conversation. “Me too,” I said. Then we parted. Angus walked slowly down the road, and I returned to my school.

As I think back on the experience now – with Mr. Bush, Angus and me – I have to say: it was a very Canadian moment.

Steven Laffoley is a writer living in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. You may e-mail him at stevenlaffoley@yahoo.ca

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