Although my young life was no different than most , in regards to being born to a set of parents who elected to want and raise me. I know there are many people out there who never even had such a luxury. Only having one parent or no one and moving through relatives or foster care systems. So I am trying to say I am not looking for any sympathy to the plight I endured. Without a doubt in my mind I know those first 12 years were better than a lot of people in this world. I also feel confident to say many envy the love and care I was showed.

My father only had a grade 3 education , my mother was raised scorned , mocked , put down and never having an abundance of confidence. Both of my parents never were taught how to communicate properly and my only sibling was deemed a mentally handicapped person. I will never truly know the stress and confusion they must of been going through as they flew by the seat of their pants trying to do the best they could . My father failed to understand that more is accomplished with words than violence , to a young child.

Although my mother did the best she could to make sure there was always food on the table and clean clothes on our backs. She was more unprepared to explain and talk situations out with us than my father. So even though on the outside , looking in , everything appeared to be normal , there was mental and physical abuse that we endured. I do not believe there was a malicious attempt to raise us in this fashion but a routine starts and is very difficult to break.

Once I turned 12 yrs old my father already had a plan to separate himself from his wife and mentally ill daughter. On my 12 year birthday I met a lawyer in the kitchen and was forced to choose which parent I was to go stay with since my parents were getting a divorce. Happy Birthday ! I chose my father. That day we left. Ken already had an apartment to move into , as well I was introduced to my new mom and brother. There was no conversation to explain what lead to the divorce. I was very surprised , confused and a little in shock that all of this was already set up and in place. There was very little to no consideration towards what I thought or how I felt.

I never really felt like I belonged in my family. I was usually left alone to figure things out on my own. Mostly because in the early 1970’s mental health was a fairly new category for doctors. A lot of attention and time was spent on trying to help my sister. It is not that I was ignored but more like I never felt included , wanted or special in any way. I felt grateful inside that my sister , Mary , was receiving help because I could see she needed it. I felt as though I could help by not being a bother to anyone. Which left me feeling alienated and secluded. I felt like a really small island in a very big ocean.

Carol , the second wife of my father did not stay with him for very long. During the time when my new brother and mom were gone , I had small hopes for my father to start talking to me a little more. I had hoped to get to know the person who was also my father. I have to admit I also was not able to manifest the words to start the conversation. So the bounding I wanted never materialized.

So I had a tendency to run away , after stealing some money and a big bottle of hard liquor , from my father’s stash. While he was not with another woman he would go down into Washington State to go to the race track. With his brother , my Uncle Ernie. On the way back from the track we would stop at the border to buy alcohol. I really enjoyed these trips but it seemed more for them than for me. I was happy to be included.

I started to act out , to try and get my fathers attention. It would usually end in some type of abuse. Whether it be physical or mental did not matter. One seemed as bad as the other. I just wanted something I was not receiving and was not smart enough to voice an opinion , so I started running away. On the second or third time , running away , my dad came into downtown Victoria , to find me. This was the first and last time he made the attempt to bring my home.

I had almost drank an entire 40 ounce bottle of Whisky or Scotch . I was more than a little drunk and remember hearing a car door being slammed. My father yelled to me to get my ass up and get in the car. I refused to answer but tried to clear my vision to look him in the eye. He repeated himself but raised his voice so I had no doubt , this was an order. I did my best to look him in the eye , as I was crouched against a wall , sitting on my ass. Without any hesitation I yelled back to him , Fuck You !!!

I knew the cycle all too well. If I was to get in the car I imagined I would get back to the house and receive some sort of beating. That is what I suspected at the time. He never closed fist punched me but would use belts , wood or paddles on me. This had been happening since I was 7 or 8. I was a drunk child and was scared to go with the man who only really showed his affection with beatings. Or at least that is how I saw it. So at that particular moment I refused. Especially since I was already hearing that tone of voice I was all too used to hearing. I knew him to be upset and that was not going to be good for me.

I half expected him to come over and grab me but instead he never said a word and got in the car and left. By the next morning I regretted not getting in the car. I was more afraid at his retribution towards me than being on my own. Since I had taken money I was able to get some food and feed the thirst I felt from being drunk , the night before. I think back and believe I had to much pride in me to go groveling back to my father. I had made my bed and now I guess I was going to sleep in it. I was 13 at the time.

The next couple of days I had next to no sleep. I had found or acquired a blanket and slept in Beacon Hill Park. It was cold and very uncomfortable. I tried sleeping on the bathroom floor , since it was at least a covered shelter. The cement was brutally uncomfortable , so I slept under a big tree on top of some ivy bushes. At least there I was hidden , safe and somewhat comfortable. The problem now was I could not feed myself and was too stubborn to go to my mom or dad. If I could not figure out how to make some money , it was only a matter of time before I would be forced to cave in to one of my parents.

I remember thinking I was not prepared to go back to my father’s. I went back down to Yates and Douglas Streets during the day and tried to pan handle a few dollars. People were fairly generous to a child begging for money. I was able to feed myself but could not do any better than that. I spent a lot of time watching people and all the buses driving by. I also noticed there was a lot of pigeons trying to feed themselves. Flying down from the roofs of building any time someone threw something on the ground.

On one of those early days I remember someone throwing the last of their food down into one of the dirt pits the trees grew out of. There were large square cement foundations that people could sit on to wait for the buses. Underneath the concrete was a massive amount of dirt , where these fairly tall trees grew out of. There was a two foot round section were there was no cement, where the tree grew from. Since the tree trunk was only a few inches around it gave plenty of space for people to throw their garbage.

I watched as the birds performed their rituals of checking the garbage inside the hole , for a quick snack. I remember watching the birds go to the edge of the cement and sticking their heads down inside the hole. They were large enough to get their beaks down to the garbage or dirt , looking for food. Since I was highly bored and felt pretty good that some of the ethnic restaurants in the area might be interested in pigeons , I made an attempt to catch one. I tried several times but failed miserably.

Until someone threw some fries in one of the holes , just before they jumped on a bus. Yates and Douglas is one of the main bus exchanges in Victoria. So it was also a really good place to try and get 25 or 50 cents from someone. In 1980 50 cents could actually buy you enough to get a hungry by for quite a few hours. If you could do that 5 or 10 times in a day you would have 4 or 5 dollars. Point being I noticed the pigeons did not pay attention to anyone when there was an amount of food to eat.

An idea came to me and I pressed people hard until I made myself a dollar or two. I went down inside Woolworth store and bought a box of bird seed and asked for an empty cardboard box. With supplies in hand I headed the half a block back to the bus stop. I folded the top of the box , folding the corners of the open flaps to make the box sealed. Of course there was a small opening in the middle , about 2″ by 2″ . I tossed maybe a fifth of the box of bird seed down onto the dirt. Slowly walked away a couple feet but left the box right beside the side of the cement enclosure.

In only took a matter of seconds before the curiosity of the birds got the better of them and they came down to investigate. As slowly as I walked away , I came back at the same speed. The birds were overjoyed at all the free food and it made easy pickings for me. I grabbed one pigeon at a time and put them through the small hole that I fashioned with the box. That way it was easy to get them in the box but when they spread their wings to fly out , there was no where near enough room.

I grabbed 25 pigeons and put them into the box. I was feeling over confident I could sell the birds in the box. I made sure not to hurt any of them just in case no one wanted to buy pigeons. If they were not wanted I could just open the box and they could just fly away. The first place I went to said yes. I told then I wanted 4 dollars a piece and they said no , but they will give me three. I was young but as I said , I was confident so I said said no and started to walk away. I guesses if the first place I went to said yes , others would also be willing to buy. I did not make it more than a couple steps and was called back.

It cost me less than I dollar fifty and no more than half an hour and I now had a hundred dollars in my pocket. I laughed all the way back to downtown. I stashed my birdseed somewhere safe and prepared to have a good meal. I also found a warm and safe place to sleep for the night. I repeated the same technique the next day and found a second place to sell the birds. I soon increased the piece by saying another store offered me $5 a piece , so I’ll have to go to them unless your willing to match the price.

Once again I heard yes. I did not want to push my luck and was more than happy to of found not only an easy way to make money but I also had a couple different stores willing to buy my pigeons. I felt so proud of myself that I did not go to my father’s after the first couple of nights. The seasons changed shortly after that and the stores , for some reason , no longer wanted the pigeons. Since it was really cold out during day and night I went to live with my mom. Like any good mother she took me in but that did not last long.

I guess the morale of the story is , even though I never felt real comfortable with either parent , I made a trial run at being on my own and impressed myself at my ability to adapt and overcome. In fact I think it would be fair to say that I felt more at ease on the street than I did with any of the adults that were supposed to of taken care of me. I learned that sometimes a person needs to be pushed outside their comfort zone to see what they are really made of.

In a lot of different ways I learned a lot about myself. I knew I felt like an outsider in my parents home and I felt more real and less afraid when I was on my own. I also realized that I had a lot in common with those birds in the box. While in the box they felt like there were out of place but once that box top opens , they are free to spread their wings and fly. I had a lot of compassion for their situation. In true adversity a person discovers their true character. They will either rise to the occasion or fall down and be overwhelmed. I had shown myself that I rise to the occasion and have never done it any other way.