The journey between here and there

When some pigeons pooped on my dad’s head when I was a kid…. Man, it was funny! The poop oozed down his head and the side of his face. HAHAHAHA….

It also oddly reminds me of the time when my brother Anthony and I put some rabbit poop in a box of Glossette raisins. Then we convinced my little brother John, who was 5 years old, that they were chocolate covered raisins…. He had a couple…. OMG we laughed so hard…. he ended up getting worms from the experience…. Ah…. good times… good times…

When we moved to the new farm shortly after Jumbo died, I was 5.

Every time I got in trouble by my parents I would either get a spanking by hand, or whatever was in their hand or by the belt.

Afterwards I would go to my bedroom crying. My bed was pushed against the wall and I would climb behind the headboard and slide my little body under the bed. I would hide out under my bed and sob uncontrollably until the pain subsided. I hated my parents and wished for a nicer, happier family.

All I remember was the chaos, the yelling, the fighting, the screaming and the constant spankings. Frustrated and fed up by the chaos that entered my life on a daily basis I grabbed a small suitcase from the spare bedroom. I packed it with clothes and some toys. I kept it hidden in the back of my closet, waiting for the opportunity to leave.

That day came while my parents were out doing the farm chores. After being spanked for eating ice cream for breakfast I sat in my room and sulked until I heard them go outside to the barns. I grabbed my suitcase, walked into the woods behind our house and headed for the highway.

I didn’t know where I’d go or what I’d do, but I just had to get away. I was 5 years old and I hated living with my parents. I constantly got spanked and yelled at, usually when I just wanted a hug or some attention. I just wanted someone to tell me that I was loved and show they loved me by not hitting me all the time.

So with my new dog Sandy by my side and Kitty (that was my cat’s name. Original I know.) following behind us, I walked the 1/2 km to the highway. When I got there I stayed in the bushes, sat down and watched the traffic go by. Being that it was northern Alberta in the middle of nowhere there really wasn’t a lot of traffic. There were a few semi trucks, cars and trucks that passed by, but not a lot.

I was tired from walking through the forest. I sat down on a dead log and thought about what I would do next. Where would I go? I didn’t know. The city? I knew I wanted to leave, but where? I thought of flagging down a car and just going where ever they were going… but then what? The idea of hopping into a strangers vehicle also scared me. My mother had threatened and scared me silly by telling me of all the terrible things that would happen to me if I ever got into someones vehicle.

I also worried that if I did run away, would I be happy elsewhere? Who would take care of me? I knew I wasn’t old enough to take care of myself.

I envisioned being in a happy family that did not yell or spank or criticize me. A family that loved me, that had brother’s and sisters I could play with and liked me. I so badly wished that I could be in a different family. There had to be someone out there that would take me in… but what if they did and it was just as bad as what I had right now? What if everyone treated kids like that? Then I’d be no better off. I mulled these thoughts over and over in my head. Stopping the negative thoughts for awhile to think about positive, happy ones daydreaming of a perfect family.

I heard my parents calling me, but I didn’t move. The cat abandoned me, he was hungry and seeing that I didn’t bring anything for him to eat he high tailed it out of there. When Sandy heard my parents calling he too took off. I was all alone.

All alone in this lush green forest. I felt so lonely, unloved and sad. I picked up my suitcase and dragged it over to the little pond across our little dirt road. I sat throwing rocks into the pond watching the ripples they made in the water. The light breeze rustled the leaves of the trees around me. The sun was getting lower in the sky. It’s warm rays fell upon my skin warming me. I felt like it was giving me a big hug. There was not a cloud in the sky. Just the loving bright yellow sun that was turning golden and beginning it’s decent into the horizon.

I sat watching the tadpoles dart in the water and little fish swim along the edge. It was so peaceful out here. No yelling, no screaming. Just peace. I lay back on the dirt and closed my eyes basking in the warm sunlight.

I wished I could fly so I could fly away from here. Soar high above the clouds and go away. Far, far away where no one could find me. I would land in a home that was filled with love for me. Who wanted me, who loved me.

Eventually, I got cold. The sun was well on its way to bed, the sky now turning orange and fiery red. I was tired and I was hungry. I forgot food. I’ll have to remember that for next time, I thought. I picked up my suitcase and went back into the woods. I walked home with dread in my step.

The dry twigs snapped under my feet taunting me as I walked home. ‘You’re not brave. You can’t even run away.’ ‘If you go home, you’re just going to be spanked again.’ This was the only place I knew of.

I stopped as I got to the edge of the garden and stared at our house. The small 700 sq. foot bungalow with yellow siding and brown trim stood about 10 feet away. It never looked so ominous and dark before. It seemed to join the twigs in mocking me. ‘You’re never going to be good enough. You should just stay away.’

I could hear my mother cooking. I sighed knowing that I had to go back inside even though I really didn’t want to go. My grumbly stomach was insisting I hurry up and go in.

I hid my suitcase in the woods behind the house. I’d have to get it tomorrow. They’d know something was up and I’d get in trouble if I brought it in now.

When I walked through the door, my mother turned to me with anger dancing in her eyes.

“Where have you been? I’ve been calling you for over an hour!” anger and hate leeched off her body and surrounded me.

“I was playing by the pond. I didn’t hear you.” I lied.

She raised her hand and hit me across the face. “Next time I call, you need to come home! Do you understand me?”

I cringed from the impact. My eyes welled with tears, “but I didn’t hear you!” I sobbed.

“Stop crying!” she hissed, “Or I’ll really give you something to cry about!” She raised her hand again.

I turned and ran towards my room. Once in the safety of my bedroom I closed the door.

Kitty looked up at me and meowed. He had been waiting for me to return and was happily resting on my bed. I flopped down on my bed and snuggled my cat. “Why did you have to leave me out there?” I asked him. He just meowed and rubbed his head into my hand. I still felt the sting from the slap across my face. I sobbed and hugged my cat. Tears streamed down my face and onto his grey fur coat.

I just wanted to be loved. All I wanted was a hug when I walked through the door, not a slap. Just a hug. I wanted to be told, “Welcome home, I missed you!” Instead all I got was a slap. She hates me I thought. She really hates me. No one loves me. I’m all alone. The only one that loves me is my cat and dog… and even they too abandon me when push comes to shove. I’m alone. All alone.

My dad was 63 when I was born. When I was little I always thought he was going to die because he looked so old. People would think he was my grandfather instead of my dad.

Whether or not it was a conscious decision I don’t know, but I did not get close to my father. I was afraid he was going to die, so why bother getting to know someone if they were going to die and be taken away. Stupid of me I know, but as a kid that’s what I thought. I always thought I would find him dead in bed or out in the farm laying on the ground.

To prevent myself from getting hurt I didn’t go out of my way to get to know him or value my time spent with him. I did not attach myself to him because I thought, why should I? He’s just going to leave me soon, he doesn’t play with me and just gives me the belt when I’m in trouble…. maybe it was because he belted me so often that I stopped attaching myself to him.

I hated the belt. The belt always seemed the punishment of choice with my father. I would hide his belts in order to prevent the constant lashings. He would find them and I would get belted again next time I did something wrong. Soon I got better and better at hiding them. I would hide them behind the water tank or up in the attic. Unfortunately for me he would go to town and buy another belt… and so the game would go. I would hide the belt, he’d buy another one.

He’d be so exasperated because his belts kept missing, but I claimed innocence and would not tell him that I took them. I resented him and I resented the fact that he always hit me with his belt.

When I was in Grade 2 this is the thought that went through my head:

“Why are we learning math? I don’t need to learn math! I won’t need to use this in my lifetime.”

I stopped paying attention in math class…. yeah, I think I fell out of my crib one to many times as a baby.

Warning: This real life story contains scenes of violence and is not intended for people that are squeamish. Heh. I’ve always wanted to say that. Be ye now warned!

For as long as I can remember I wanted a horse.

When I was 1 1/2 (my mom swears I was only one and a half, but I think I must have been older cuz my memory is so clear and detailed) I was bitten by my German Sheppard dog on the left side of my face by my temple. It is usually covered by my hair, but it is still there. He also bit me in the corner of my right eye, just missing my eye ball by millimeters. You can’t tell unless I point it out.

To this day, I can still close my eyes and remember that day in color. It’s very vivid in my memory…

It was a beautiful summer day. The grass was green and the bright yellow sun came streaming through the trees that surrounded our little farm. There was a small area that was cleared of trees. Our tiny 700 sq. ft. home that my mom and dad built stood on the west side of the small clearing. To the east were a small chicken coup and a little barn. Trees heavily lined a pot-holed little dirt country road that snaked its way to the main highway. My parents had a little hobby farm with a few goats, a couple of sheep, ducks, geese, chickens and 2 dogs. One was a German Sheppard and one was a shaggy dog. Unfortunately for me we didn’t have a horse. I desperately wanted one.

I was outside playing with the dogs in front of our house. I always wanted a horse so “Jumbo” the German Sheppard was my designated horsy. To me he was tall. It took me a few attempts to scramble on top of him. I would try to ride him like a horse.

“Giddy-up Jumbo!” I’d order. (Whether I actually said this or this was a running dialogue in my mind I don’t know.)

He would constantly sit down; therefore I would slide off his back. This irritated me. I kept trying to climb onto his back, but he would keep moving, growling every now and then. Frustrated, I got a willow stick and whipped the dog with my stick if he sat down. (I never said I didn’t deserve to be bitten) He was getting quite angry. His growling grew louder and longer. I had no idea what growling meant. I thought to myself, ‘I wonder why he is growling?’ So after who knows how long of being climbed on and beaten by my willow stick he bites me.

I was surprised and shocked that he had bitten me! Red blood began running through my eyes and down my face. I don’t remember the pain, I just remember crying and thinking I had to tell my mom. I walked up the four green wooden stairs to the metal screen door. Looking through the window I saw my mother in the kitchen washing dishes with her back to me. She wore a maroon colored pair of polyester pants and a cream colored shirt. I banged on the screen door because I couldn’t open it. I was screaming and crying. She turned around. Her eyes grew big as saucers and a look of shock, horror and terror filled her face. She screamed for my father as she rushed towards me and flung open the door.

She grabbed me, brought me in, snapped up some dish towels and placed them on my face. I couldn’t breathe, so I kept trying to push the towels away and she kept pushing them on my face to try to stop the blood. My mother was screaming and frantic. My dad still hadn’t come into the kitchen.

“Hold this and don’t take it off your face!” she told me hysterically.

She then ran off to wake up my dad. Once she had left my side I took the dish towels off my face. Freed from the towels blood began to run freely down my face. Looking from the kitchen into the living room I saw my dad laying on the couch with his back towards me. He was wearing a light yellow shirt with tan colored pants. Suspenders crisscrossed his back and held up his pants. My dad had friends over earlier and was passed out drunk on the couch. She finally managed to wake him from his alcohol induced sleep.

The next thing I remember I was standing on the porch with my parents. My dad took my tricycle and threw it at Jumbo. He yelled and shook his fist in rage at the dog. Jumbo tucked his tail between his legs and ran out of my dads way. We then jumped into the truck and headed towards the hospital. The truck had a plastic bench seat. My father drove and I sat snuggled next to my mother. She kept putting pressure on my head. It was an hour ride to the hospital since we lived in the country, but all I remember was my mother yelling at my father to go faster. I had stopped crying at this point and was scared because I didn’t know what was going to happen. Looking outside I saw green fields and green trees slip by as we sped towards the hospital. I was exhausted from crying and my heavy eyes close.

Before I know it I’m in a small hospital room. It’s all white and I see a strange man looking at me. He is wearing a long white doctor’s coat. Something smells funny. All these years later, I realize it was the smell of medicine, but at the time I had no clue as to why it stunk so badly. The doctor is examining my head and tells my mother that I need stitches. He takes a long needle and freezes the area. I feel a cold skinny piece of metal pierce my skin and sting my head. I begin to cry once again. Soon the pain subsides as the freezing begins to take effect. He then threads black thread into a needle. This time I am leery of him sticking anything into my head after the first sting. My mother bribes me with an ice cream cone if I am good and can sit still. When I finally consent to letting the doctor come near me with another needle I feel pressure, but no pain. I got 34 stitches. After he was done, I looked in a big square mirror on the wall and see two rows of little black x’s on my temple.

“You were really brave!” says the doctor. All I can think about now is that I get ice cream for being so good while they stitched me up. Strawberry ice cream. Yummy! I’m all about the treats! I happily licked my pink cone. I feel very loved and comforted as I snuggled into my mother for the drive home.

When we got back home, my dad called the neighbors across the highway to come over. I saw my dad loading the 22 gun. I was curious as to why he had the gun out. I had no clue. He loaded it. I was standing by him with my mom. The dogs were both barking frantically. He raised his arm and aimed the gun at Jumbo. The neighbor was holding Jumbo by the collar. Then right in front of me he shot the dog. The dog crumpled and fell to the ground. Red blood quickly pooled around his head on the brown dirt. I screamed and cried. I loved Jumbo. My mother tries to explain to me why they shot the dog. She said that once a dog tasted blood he would bite again. I was so sad because I knew that it was my fault the dog got shot.

As my dad and the neighbor talked, I ran over to Jumbo and tried to wake him up. I shook his body and grabbed his paw. His dark brown paw was limp. Tears streamed down my cheeks. My dog was now dead. Jumbo was my first dog. I really loved him. My heart ached and I so badly wanted him to be alive.

The neighbor then tied the dog with some rope to the back of the tractor and dragged its limp body down the small dirt road. I watched with sadness as the dog was carted away, its lifeless body bumping along the country road. It left a blood smear down the road as it travel away from me. I stood and watched until the tractor was no longer to be seen.

1. Throwing cats up in the air is not a good idea. They extend their claws as they are coming down grabbing for a shirt or arm to cling on to. Cat claws hurt. Especially on the face and arms.

2. Cats don’t like bike rides.

3. Cats don’t like the water.

4. Cats don’t like to be thrown into the pond.

5. Surprisingly when cats are thrown into a pond they swim like a dog and do the dog paddle in order to get out.

6. Cats are very forgiving and have bad memories.

7. Cats don’t like to play tag with the garden hose.

8. Cats are very loyal and cuddly. They make great pillows for a little girls head.

9. If you play barber shop and cut a cats whiskers off they loose balance and bump into things.

10. When you place a Tupperware container over a cats head they will go backwards.

11. Cats don’t like it when you put tape on their feet. They will do a crazy dance until they are able to pull it off.

12. Cats also don’t like it when you put tape on their head, whiskers or body. They spaz out until they get the tape off.

13. Cats do get along with dogs. They also like to snuggle and sleep with each other.

14. Cats are very patient when you dress them up in doll clothes, although afterwards they look humiliated and annoyed.

I love my cat, “Kitty”. Very original name for a 5 year old. Kitty lived until I was 21 years old. I miss you Kitty!

1. If you pull the legs off a Daddy long legs spider one by one they will bite you.

2. Red ants bite. Especially when you poke a stick in its ant hill and try to stir it… Black ants react the same way.

3. Although sheep are small, soft and look friendly, they can buck you off like a crazed horse or smash you into the fence. Mental note, they don’t like to be ridden and are quite skiddish, no matter how many times you try.

4. Blood suckers die when you add salt to them. My mother always wondered where all her boxes of salt went to. I was just trying to kill the blood suckers in the pond so I could swim in it without being attacked.

5. 10 boxes of salt is not enough to kill a pond full of blood suckers.

1. Roosters have tempers and sharp beaks. Being 3 feet tall and screaming really loudly does not scare a rooster. He will attack.

2. Geese don’t like being chased…Neither do roosters.

3. Caring a big stick becomes a necessity when I was short and tried to play with the rooster or the geese.

4. Geese bite and have heavy wings to beat me with when they are tired of playing duck, duck, goose.

5. Geese and roosters are not afraid of sticks. They still attack.

6. Carrying a stick bigger than myself is hard to handle and will not protect me from being attacked by the geese or rooster.

7. I’m really starting to believe that playing tag with the rooster and geese is really not a good idea.

8. Running really, really, really fast is important when playing tag with the rooster or the geese.

9. Not tripping is essential to survival.

10. Geese and roosters have good memories.

11. Geese and roosters like to play tag even when I don’t want to. I think they must hold a grudge from the last time I clobbered them with a stick.

12. Teaching my dog Sandy to attack the geese and rooster will prevent my ass from getting whooped anytime I cross the farm.

13. Dogs really are a girl’s best friend.

I was a kid on the farm I made mud pies with fresh farm eggs and showed them to my mom. I was quite pleased with my creation, my mother on the other hand was not.

I got smacked.

Next time I learned not to put the shells in.

I got smacked again.

Next time I learned to hide the shells in my sandbox.

I got smacked yet again.

Next time I learned to hide the egg shells deep in the woods where my mother doesn’t walk.

It takes awhile, but eventually I learn.