Oh where to start. Okay well I guess with Christmas coming I've been thinking a lot lately about all my good fortune. Oh I may not be rich financially but emotionally and spiritually I am.
Now everyone knows how I feel about "organized" religion but I do have a spiritual side. I am not the heaten some people think I am although I tend to be more pragamatis and linear in my thought process.
I love blogging because it's somewhat of a personal journal. I get to put my thoughts down on paper and although you may not agree with what I have to say, I don't mind because we all have our own opinions and beliefs. That's what makes people interesting to me. The diversity of it all.
I do want to say how happy I am that I found out that I have more readers than I thought. Not all of them are listed as "followers" but they are world-wide. I have had friends and family tell me that they routinely read my blog and I'm flattered that they are interested in what I have to say.
The beginning:
I'm the one squinting from the flash (circa 1959 or 1960)
on a rare visit to see my dad and new wife
I've had a very eclectic life from an early stage.
I am what they call an "army brat" because at the age of two we lived on an army base in Picton where my father was a weapons specialist. My sister Barbara was born there and when we moved backed to Toronto (where I was born) my youngest sister Irene was born.
Life with my parents at that time was tumultuous to say the least. We lived in a little bungalow in the east end of the city that my grandmother had bought for my parents as a wedding gift.
My father was an alchoholic and not a very nice one at that. I have memories of the police bringing him home drunk and disorderly on a regular basis.
I remember watching my father beat my mother for the littlest thing. There were no anger management classes in those days. I would just stand there crying begging him to stop and finally he would.
Well Christmas came one year when I was four and I was told I was going for a visit to my aunt and uncle's in Weston over the holidays. I was excited because I loved them dearly and they used to visit quite often (I found out later it was to make sure I was getting fed, etc.).
Anyway, little did I know it was not just a visit and that they were my new guardians. So every night after supper I would sit by the front door waiting for them to pick me up. Of course they never came. I used to fall asleep there on the floor so after about two weeks my aunt and uncle explained that they weren't coming and I would now be living with them.
As the years went by I grew accustomed to my new home and was enrolled in school and made friends with the neighbour's kids. I went from a caotic life to one of structure and discipline. I was enrolled in summer programs, ballet and tap at five and then through the years took singing, drama, recorder, piano, modern jazz, skating and swimming. I was a brownie and girl guide. I went to Sunday school, church camps and a host of other activities. I was busy. I had a good life and didn't want for anything or so it seemed. Something was missing. I didn't belong. I thought maybe if my aunt and uncle adopted me and I had their last name I would fell better about myself but they refused and said I already had a last name and parents of my own.
I longed for my "real" mom and dad. Oh I knew I had parents but they weren't in my life. Over the years my mom would ask my aunt to pack a bag and she would pick me up to go on a trip. I can't tell you how many times I sat on the veranda dressed and ready to go with my suitcase by my side but she never showed. I just got used to it after awhile.
The other kids were always asking me why I lived with my aunt and uncle. I never knew what to say so I would just make stuff up. I do remember saying my father was a spy and my mother a movie star or a famous model... I was convinced I was adopted because how could my parents just give me up? So my uncle got my birth certificate to prove I wasn't. I was so disappointed. I thought just maybe I had other parents out there that really cared about me.
I never felt I really belonged so when I was thirteen I became rebellious and wanted to leave the home that I had known from the age of four. I longed for a diffrent life and some freedom so I moved back with my mom and sisters who were living with my grandmother in Toronto. There were no shelters for battered women back then so my mother didn't have much of a choice when she left my father.
Well needless to say, I went from structure back to caos in my teen years.
To be continued...
Ciao
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