There was a time when I couldn't wait to strap on the convention feedbag at a Liberal Party of Canada biennial convention. For several years in my youth, I was a true believer, a political neophyte who hung on every word of my illustrious leader and felt great passion for the debate on the future of Canada. Like many before me, I was swept up by the romance of politics, its possibilities and its rhetoric. I wanted to believe. But I was in my twenties and naive. I believed that what politicians put in political platforms would be realized in communities across this frigid land. In fact, I helped craft the words of the first ever Red Book. I was so proud of the Red Book, I kept a dog-eared copy on my computer table for years. But I soon became Dorothy, a polyanna in sensible shoes looking for those ruby slippers. I quickly realized there was nothing in the Wizard's bag for me. Most of the pronouncements on programs I really cared about were carrots on a stick, fed ...
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