For those of you who donnae know, I was born in Toronto, seemingly
a nice city, from an outsider's perspective, but in reality, it's an
unpleasant place to live much of the time. When I was younger, I saw
the world a little differently though. My parents and I lived in a
prosperous area of this city, crime was almost unheard of, and even
though I was a "geek" and a "loner", I know that I had a fairly good
childhood. When I was very young, we lived in a township called
Hillsburg, lovely little town, population of a few thousand at most,
and I spent many a day walking in the woods behind our home, taking
catterpillars for "rides" in my wagon, (I TOLD you I was a strange
child) and crying when the leeches refused to attach themselves to
me when I went swimming.

I was a sensitive child, I guess, the leaches thing, upon thinking back
repulses me, but we learn about how things should scare us when we grow
older.
I had many a pet, from chickens and ducks, to cats, baby birds, rats,
(to which I am now allergic) dogs, snakes, in short, anything that
looked helpless and needing of a home, got one, through me.
Some things donnae change, I'm still bringing the occasional stray
animal (and sometimes human) back to my home to help it.

But back to the history portion of this story, before we digress too
much. I had an older adopted sister who was quite nice to me, but a
total horror to my parents, a true problem child in every sense of the
word.
When I was 6 or 7, we moved to Toronto, something I've never been terribly
pleased about, I still miss autumn in the fields of milkweed behind our
farmhouse, the dark dark nights with nothing to light your way through
town but the stars and moon.

Shortly after we moved, my adopted sister was placed back with foster care
for various reasons, much of which had to do with her violent behavior,
which was never directed towards me, thankfully, but towards herself and
my parents.

I began school, and for a time, quite enjoyed it, surprisingly enough,
but things changed quickly there too, when other children discovered just
how much fun it was to make me cry. School became a disapointment to me,
something to be dreaded and feared, instead of enjoyed.

I was in the first implimentation of the "gifted program", something else
that in retrospect, set me apart from the other children. I dinna want to
talk about "boys", I wanted to play soccer with them, or read a book by
myself. I dinna want to have whispered conversations in the bathroom, I
wanted to learn about a science project that I'd read about. In short,
I spent a great deal more time with adults then I did children, most likely
because children seemed so....childish, as odd a thing as that is to say.

I was aware from the time that I was very young that my parents werenae
happy with each other. A lot of time was spent arguing, they fought, and
in thinking back, I remember many occasions when I spent my evenings locked
away in the "tv room", reading, with the television on as loud as I could
have it and still be able to concentrate on my book, and just as many
evenings spent being "peacekeeper" between them.
My Father drank to escape, I read, and my mother just worked, started her
own business in fact, the first of many, a typesetting company.

By the time I was 10, I was immersed in the battles between my parents,
and the school library became another escape for me, prompted and encouraged
by the school librarian, Mr. Zeller.

Through him, I learned to ignore the taunts of other children, and be proud
of my vocabulary, he showed me that there were other people like me, people
who were different, and have pride in my differences.
I'd only had this sort of boost from my parents in the past, and they HAD
to encourage me to be myself, being such eccentric people themselves.

However, it was his very difference that cost Mr. Zeller his life and taught
me first hand about how violent and horrible prejudice could be.
Mr Zeller was beaten to death, in his car, waiting for his boyfriend.
I promised myself never to judge someone else on the colour of their skin,
their beliefs, for being "different", and to be quieter about my own
differences.

Moving on to Junior High school, I went to another school for the gifted,
and changed schools in mid year, as the first school had little to no
structure, and while that was fine and good for much of the time, it was
something I needed at the time to be able to learn.
In the middle of the 8th grade, my parents came to the conclusion that
they could no longer live together, and while I was fully aware that this
day would come, I wasnae really as prepared for it as I thought I would be.
My mother moved out, with me, and we stayed with her boyfriend,
who I disliked immensely, and visited my father and his girlfriend, who
I also disliked greatly, fairly typical behaviour, in retrospect.

Backtracking a little bit here for a moment, I was brought up to respect all
religions, my grandmother on my Father's side was HEAVILY Christian, my
Mother, at that time anyway, was Jewish, (this would go through some
changes now and again, seemingly at whim) and my Father was and is Pagan.
So you might say, I had a diverse religious upbringing.

Life with my Mother's boyfriend was much different from the life I'd
lived with both of my parents, and I despised it, the change, the
high emotional state that embittered both of my parents when they'd
see each other, and visiting my Father and his girlfriend was no easier.

So, as most teens do in situations like that, I rebelled.
I dyed my hair green at one point, failed all my courses but one, became
someone who "partied" heavily, had a series of boyfriends who I should've
known better about at the time, and got kicked out a bunch of times.
And my mother became pregnant with my sister.

This was an eventuality I was not prepared for, but I was fairly happy
about this situation, I'd wanted another sister since my adopted sister
had been sent back to foster care, and looked forward to having a sibling
once more.

Evntually, I buckled down, I quit my job, (telemarketing, blech) went back
to school, started getting good grades, cut down on the parties, made a
friend who later became a boyfriend, and started taking things more
seriously.
Unfortunately, this was not to be.
In 1992, I was hit by a car, and things changed radically once more.

To be continued in "What happens Now?"