Resurrected

The True Story of a

Modern-Day Miracle

James Wright

Copyright © 2014 by James Wright.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014904203

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-4931-8182-7

Softcover       978-1-4931-8183-4

eBook            978-1-4931-8181-0

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Rev. date: 03/04/2014

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Table of Contents

Preface

Part I: Birth

Chapter 1: A Family History

Chapter 2: The Way Things Would Be

Chapter 3: The Nightmare

Chapter 4: On My Own

Part II: Breaking Point

Chapter 5: Checkmate

Chapter 6: My Self-Confidence Grows

Chapter 7: Ape Man

Chapter 8: My Escape

Chapter 9: Becoming a Man

Part III: Street Family

Chapter 10: Sam and Lisa

Chapter 11: Important Lessons

Chapter 12: The Sexual Revolution

Chapter 13: Diamonds

Part IV: Rebirth

Chapter 14: Powers

Chapter 15: Falling in Love

Chapter 16: Turning to God for Help

Chapter 17: Working Hard

Chapter 18: The Jaywalker

Chapter 19: E.T.

Part V: A New Chapter Begins

Chapter 20: A Lost Friend and a New Opportunity

Chapter 21: Two New Loves

Chapter 22: The Last Straw

Chapter 23: A New Beginning

Chapter 24: Jackpot

Chapter 25: Blind Date

Chapter 26: Hockey Cards

Part VI: Retribution & Redemption

Chapter 27: The Pain and Agony Start

Chapter 28: Disabled by the Pain

Chapter 29: Stephanie

Chapter 29: Resurrection

Afterword

Preface

Hello, and welcome to my first book. In the following pages, you will discover many true stories—some much more serious than others, and some with substories hidden between the lines. Not to worry, though. All will be revealed as you read on.

Some names, dates, and other identifying details have been changed to protect the identity of individuals involved. But I assure you every word, every paragraph, are entirely true.

I would like to thank the following people for their part in the book: Sam, Lisa, Ron, Rhonda, Larry, Trudy, Mitsie, Stephanie, Richie, Marlene, and Andy.

I wrote this book to bring glory to God Almighty and his son, Jesus Christ, but also to enlighten every reader, Christian or not, with some very eye-opening revelations.

PART I: BIRTH

Chapter 1: A Family History

It was the early 1900s, and Fridolin and Mary Baumann immigrated to Canada to homestead on over ten sections of land near Vanguard, Saskatchewan. They were a young couple starting a farm and a family on the Canadian Prairies. They had to clear the land of rocks by hand and horse cart, but first they needed to build a house big enough to hold a large family.

On March 21, 1935, they had their sixth child, a girl they named Marlene Fay Baumann. Marlene grew up on that farm. When she was six years old, she started to go to Mountville School, a one-room school situated just north of Vanguard. Marlene’s sister, her senior by twenty years, taught grades one through twelve all at the same time.

In 1945, Fridolin bought a large house in Swift Current, Saskatchewan, then moved himself, his wife, and his twelve children there. That summer, Marlene moved into the Catholic convent in Swift Current. When she was old enough, she attended Beatty High School. She worked at the supermarket after school and on the weekends.

Marlene saved up her money, and when she was sixteen, she asked her father if she could move to Calgary, Alberta, with her girlfriend. Her father gave her his permission but warned her that if she ever got pregnant, she could never come home. She understood completely and said, “Thank you, Daddy.”

Shortly after moving to Calgary, Marlene was hired on as cashier at Calgary’s very first supermarket.

Marlene took to the big city like a duck to water. She worked hard and saved most of what she earned, but she did like to go out with her friends and have a good time. Marlene wasn’t old enough to get into bars and nightclubs, but some of her older friends would often buy alcohol and party at home or go to a friend’s house so Marlene could drink and have a good time with everybody else. When she turned eighteen in 1953, her friends and coworkers took her out to celebrate that she could now legally go into bars and nightclubs.

Marlene was smart, attractive, and a very nice young lady. It wasn’t long before she became head cashier at the supermarket where she worked. For the next four years, she stuck close to her friends and had a good time, mostly going to bars and nightclubs at night and working hard during the day.

She liked dancing with the young men in the bars and nightclubs, and from time to time she would go out on a date when a nice young man asked her out. But Marlene was raised to be a nice girl, and that meant she must be a virgin when she got married. Six years of going to parties, bars, and nightclubs with her girlfriends, however, could only lead to one thing—she became an alcoholic.

In the fall of 1957, the supermarket where Marlene worked hired a new meat department manager. Andy was twenty-six years old and very good-looking. He was also an alcoholic. Andy believed that the more whiskey a man could handle, the more of a man he was. That, and the amount of pain he could endure. On his chest, he had a tattoo of a bald eagle with its wings fully spread. It covered his whole upper torso. So if any man was showing off his tattoo, Andy would rip open his shirt and belittle him, because no one had a tattoo bigger than Andy’s.

At work, Andy kept a bottle of whiskey under the counter in the meat department. After lunch, he and the other meat cutters would start having drinks. The meat department was sealed off from the rest of the store with sliding glass, which meant that Andy and his staff did not have to set foot in the grocery store itself. To stock the meat, they only needed to slide a piece of glass and reach in. The store manager didn’t even go back there. If he wanted to know something, he would just call Andy on the in-store phone system. So, Andy and his coworkers could drink undisturbed. They would not drink enough to be noticed by a customer or one of the staff.

It wasn’t long before Andy asked Marlene out on a date, and she said yes. Marlene had a good time on this date, so when Andy asked her out again just a few days later, she accepted.

One night late in October, when Andy was driving Marlene home after a party, Marlene turned to Andy and said, “I’m yours.” She was falling in love with him and had decided she did not want to date anyone else.

Andy turned to her and asked, “Mine alone?”

“Yes.”

“I have never had something that was mine and just mine.”

Marlene did not notice that he had referred to her as “something.”

Now that they were officially boyfriend and girlfriend, Andy usually decided where they went and what they did. Marlene didn’t mind—she was in love. She was giving herself to Andy. She was raised to believe the man is the head of the relationship, and she trusted him to do what was best for the both of them. They went to parties, nightclubs, and bars almost the entire time they dated.

One night late in December when Andy and Marlene were on a date, Andy asked Marlene to marry him, and as history would have it she said yes. But Marlene continued to live with her girlfriend up until her wedding day. As a Catholic, Marlene could not live in sin and had to be a virgin when she married.

In the following weeks, Andy and Marlene had a great many things to talk about, like what kind of wedding they wanted, where to get married, and who to invite. But first they must call and tell their parents the good news. After that was done, they needed to talk to their Catholic priest. Because they were Catholic, they had to have marriage studies with a Catholic priest. Only once this was scheduled could they settle on a date.

They decided they wanted a spring wedding. They came up with May 26, 1958. And it was going to be big. Marlene had eleven brothers and sisters, and Andy had ten brothers and sisters, not to mention their siblings’ spouses, plus all of their aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends.

There was so much to be done: reserving the church hall, ordering invitations and thank-you cards, choosing the best man and bridesmaids, and booking the honeymoon. Marlene’s father, Fridolin, paid for the entire wedding.

During their marriage studies, the priest spoke with Marlene and Andy about almost everything that could happen in a marriage, including children, sickness, good times and bad, and growing old together.

Marlene and Andy talked about children a lot in the weeks leading up to the wedding and decided they only wanted to have one child, regardless of sex. Marlene and Andy wanted to start trying to have that one child as soon as they were married.

As the wedding approached, things got done one by one as was needed. Two days before the wedding, relatives started showing up and everything came together as planned. Then the big day was upon them.

It was May 26, 1958, and the weather in Calgary was just right. With all their relatives in attendance, Marlene and Andy were married. After the wedding pictures, they greeted everyone at the reception and enjoyed an evening of celebration. They had two hours to talk with everyone and personally thank them for their gifts and well wishes.

Marlene’s father, Fridolin, asked his daughter and her new husband to go for a ride in his car. After about ten minutes of driving, Fridolin stopped in front of a white house with a nice front yard. Fridolin said, “Come. I want to show you something.” Once they were inside the house he told them, “This is my wedding present to both of you. This house is fully paid for.” Marlene and Andy thanked Marlene’s father for buying them the house. Then they went back to the reception, and Andy and Marlene said their goodbyes and left for their honeymoon.

After returning from their honeymoon, Andy and Marlene moved into their new home and went back to work. Now that they were husband and wife, Andy carried on making most of the decisions and was very domineering. Marlene worked full time, cleaned the house, cooked, did all the shopping, paid the bills, washed the laundry, and ironed Andy’s clothes—even his hankies. Not only that, she had to pay for it all. She even had to make sure there was a carton of smokes and a bottle of whiskey on top of the fridge at all times. Marlene didn’t seem to mind. When she said “I do,” her vows were till death do us part. Divorce was not an option for Marlene. She just was not raised that way. God help a good Catholic girl if she picked the wrong husband, because if her husband changed after they got married and became violent, she and her children would be trapped with no way out.

Andy and Marlene were both making extremely good money, and they both liked to party and have a good time. Being young and in love led to going out five or more times a week, having a good time together and with friends. They also had a lot of parties in their new home.

•   •   •

When they had been married about a month, Marlene gave Andy the good news that she was pregnant. But just a few months later, Marlene miscarried. The cause was unknown. They started trying to get pregnant again almost right away. Within about six weeks, Marlene went to the doctor, and a couple of days later Marlene and Andy got a call that confirmed she was pregnant. After only a few months, Marlene miscarried once again. The doctor was still uncertain as to the cause, but it was possible something was wrong with the fetus.

At home, Marlene started putting vodka in her coffee to numb herself to the problems she was having at that time. She hid the fact that she drank during the day from Andy. But once Andy got home, he would drink rye and coke nonstop until they went to bed. There is something you need to know about Andy and his drinking. The more whisky Andy drank, the more his violent tendencies would surface.

By now it was now 1959, and Marlene and Andy were trying once again to get pregnant. In late August, Marlene suspected she might be pregnant, so she went to the doctor and found out a few days later that she was indeed pregnant. When Andy got home she told him the good news. “Now,” they both thought, “we just have to hope that nothing goes wrong.”

On April 4, 1960, God blessed Andy and Marlene with a healthy baby girl. They named her Trudy Lynn.

Everything was going great for Marlene and Andy now. They had a mortgage-free home, a healthy baby girl, and Andy was making extremely good money as the head of the meat department at the largest grocery store in the city. They invited their friends over to see their newborn baby girl and to entertain and also went to parties at their friends’ homes.

Andy decided how he was going to raise his daughter. He was going to raise her with kid gloves. When she was a baby, he held her as any loving father would, saying, “goo goo” or “say, ‘Da, Da.’” When she turned six months old, he would take Trudy by her little hands, and, with her hanging onto his thumbs, he would teach her how to take her first steps. When she was about eight months old, she would pull herself up and stand or walk holding onto the coffee table for support. One day, Andy saw that there was an ashtray on the coffee table. He could have moved this away from her, but he didn’t. On purpose, he let her touch it, then he gave her little hand a small slap, just hard enough to make her bottom lip protrude and a tear fall from one eye. Then he said, “That’s a no-no,” so she would learn not to touch it. Never ever did he spank her. Not even a love tap. She was Daddy’s little girl. He made sure she was going to love her daddy.

When he came home from work, Andy would pour himself a drink then go to get his little girl and just hold her as he watched TV and enjoyed his drink. Once he finished his first drink, he would put Trudy down on the living room carpet with some toys so he could watch her while his wife made his supper. He would then pour himself another drink and watch TV and his daughter while he waited for his supper.

Just three months later, Andy and Marlene got a surprise. Marlene was pregnant. They could not believe it. They wanted only one child, and Marlene had done everything right, taking her birth control pills exactly when she was supposed to. This was going to ruin all their plans. Andrew considered an abortion, but Marlene was a devout Catholic, so that was absolutely out of the question. They hoped she might miscarry. After all, Marlene did have two miscarriages before she had Trudy. But it was not to be.

Two weeks before her due date, Marlene went into labor. She called Andy at work, and he hurried home to take his wife to the hospital, which was only five minutes away. When her contractions were a couple of minutes apart, she was taken to the delivery room and soon gave birth.

On February 4, 1961, God blessed Marlene and Andy with a healthy baby boy. I was only four pounds and change, like my sister, but I was twenty inches long. I was a little weak, so I had to spend ten days in an incubator until I put on twenty to twenty-two ounces in weight before I could go home. They named me Douglas Joseph.

Chapter 2: The Way Things Would Be

You would think my father would be happy to have a healthy son. Someone he could pass all of his vast wisdom to and someone to carry on the family name. But not so. Andy wanted nothing to do with me. As far as he was concerned, I ruined everything he and my mother had planned.

As the man of the home, whatever Andy said was the way things would be and that was that. Andy decided how he was going to raise and discipline his son. My mother had no choice but to comply with what her husband said and the way he wanted things done. My mother could not show any kindness to her baby boy, at least not when her husband was home, other than feeding me, changing my diapers, and putting clean clothes on me. That was all that Andy permitted. She laid me on my stomach when she put me in the crib. I seemed to like that. I fell asleep more quickly and slept longer than I did on my back. Perhaps lying on my stomach made me feel like someone was finally holding me, and this comforted me.

As a baby, I shared a room with my parents. Their bed was in the corner against the wall and Andy made my mother sleep on the inside. I guess he just liked sleeping on the outside half of the bed. If me or my sister needed to be fed or changed in the middle of the night, my mother would have to carefully and softly crawl off the end of the bed so she would not disturb her husband.

One night when I was eight months old, my parents went into our bedroom and turned the light on, then turned it off and went to bed. This woke me up, and I started to cry. Andy, drunk on whiskey, got real mad and said, “I’ll give him something to cry about.” Then he got up, furiously grabbed me, and violently spanked me over his knee for more than a minute. Can you imagine how many hits that must have been?

The next morning, my mother picked me up out of my crib to change me. When she took off my diaper she found blood. She turned to Andy and said, “There’s blood in his diaper. What are we going to do?” Andy replied, “I guess you had better take him to the hospital. If he is seriously hurt, I’ll take the blame.” Then, like any other day, Andy left for work.

My mother washed my bloody diaper and put a clean one on me. She waited two hours, then checked my diaper. When she found no new blood, she took me to the hospital. She told the doctor that my pee was red and that I had eaten a bunch of pickled beets the night before. Could that be why my pee was red? The doctor agreed that this could be the reason. He pushed on my abdomen in different spots, then said, “He does not seem to be in any discomfort. Take him home. If it happens again, bring him back and we’ll run some tests.” My mother took me home and put me in my crib. When Andy came home after work, she told him what the doctor had said, but she did not tell him what she had done to cover up what he had done to me. You see, my mother was proud of her husband for saying he would take the blame.

It is quite obvious that I had internal bleeding, most likely in my bladder. It’s shocking that a mother would put her baby’s health at risk in such a way. Andy was getting away with spanking his eight-month-old son to the point of causing internal bleeding. My future was looking pretty bleak, what with an alcoholic mother willing to cover up her husband’s physical abuse of their baby.

Andy continued to drink at work and then drink whiskey from the time he got home till the time he went to bed. When he drank like this, at least once every two weeks, he would find some reason to spank me. When I turned one year old, I started walking and getting into things, which led to more spankings. “Don’t”—hard slap, hard slap—“you”—hard slap, hard slap—“ever”—hard slap, hard slap—“touch”—hard slap, hard slap—“that”—hard slap, hard slap—“again!” Then he would finish up with ten or more hard slaps.

I started to cry loudly after the first hard and painful slap, the violent pain and crying preventing me from hearing or understanding what my father was saying. After the spanking finally stopped and the pain subsided, I would not know why I had been getting a violent spanking. This was the case every single time Andy spanked me. This was not disciplining me; this was only taking out his violent anger on me. The spankings would last so long because Andy had a lot of anger built up in him. Add to this the amount of whiskey he had consumed up to that point of the day. This was the case ever since Andy started spanking me at eight months of age, and there was no end in sight.

•   •   •

Trudy was now about eighteen months old, and she was growing up healthy and happy. Barb, my mother’s best friend, would come over and bring her baby girl, Mitsie, who was very close in age to Trudy. Trudy and Mitsie would play together for hours while my mom and Barb would talk over coffee and smoke cigarettes. Almost every adult smoked cigarettes back then. Doctors would actually tell people to take up smoking as a way to increase their metabolism and lose weight.

My mom and Barb would give the girls baths in the side-by-side sinks in our kitchen. The girls looked so cute that their mothers would take pictures of the girls every time they gave the girls baths like this. For years afterward, they would show these pictures to almost everyone they knew. Everybody thought that bathing the girls that way was a great idea. I only mention this because baby Trudy and baby Mitsie grew up to be best friends. They are best friends to this very day.

Since I was three years old and my sister Trudy had just turned four, our mother would make us do the dinner dishes. Trudy and I would have to stand on chairs to reach into the sinks. Of course we both wanted to dry, so we decided to take turns. Whoever dried the night before had to wash that night. About an hour after Trudy and me finished the dishes, we would go to Mom and ask if we could play a game, or go outside to play in the backyard, or have some ice cream—things like that. She said yes about seven out of ten times. This went on for about six months. Then one night we asked her and she said, “Go ask your father,” so me and Trudy went to ask him. The answer was no. For the next year we would do this—ask Mom and Mom always said, “Go ask your father,” but every single time we asked him the answer was no. Never, ever, did he say yes. Trudy and I would walk away dejected. This happened every single time we asked for the next six years.

My earliest memory of Andy was when I was about three and a half years old. He got real mad at me and grabbed me and put me over his knee and spanked me for so long and hard that his hand hurt. He grabbed a wooden-handled toy and continued to beat me with it until it broke.

As far back as I can remember, Andy never talked to me. He never looked at me, at least not when I looked at him. It is very possible that my own father never looked at or talked to me from the day I got home from the hospital except to beat me.

I have been afraid of my father as far back as I can remember.

Fast forward a year and a half. I was now five years old, and as the family had done every summer since my parents were married, we all took a trip to Andy’s sister’s farm near Harris, Saskatchewan, to butcher a steer for his sister and another for us. My sister and I had to be in the backseat all the way there. It was always hot, and we weren’t allowed to open the windows on the entire six-hour trip. We were driving through the flat prairies with nothing to look at except grain and more grain. Six hours of flat land with nothing other than grain. After three or four hours, Trudy and I would start to get a little bit cranky and fight over who got to lie down and who had to sit up. The fact was both of us could have lain down. One of us could have lain with his or her feet on the inside of the seat and the other with his or her feet on the outside. That way we both could have slept or at least been comfortable. Neither of our parents came up with this idea. Instead, they would let us argue until Andy got mad enough to turn around and backhand me in the head as hard as he could. I have been hit by my father in the head like this for so long now that I do not cry out in pain. I have learned that crying will make no difference at all. In fact, I don’t say a word. I just sit there and take the physical abuse that I have been taking for the past five years, because the physical and the emotional abuse have made me so hard. I tell you the truth, he used all the force he could, but not a sound came from me. I absorbed the pain inside me, and with each beating, I transformed into a little harder boy who no longer felt pain. With each beating, there was this rage building up inside me, and each hit made that rage grow—someday to be released.

When we arrived at the farm, my Auntie Kay and Uncle Gerald welcomed us and fed us supper. Then the adults played cards and drank and smoked the rest of the night.

The next day, Andy and Uncle Gerald went to pick out two steers for slaughter. While they were gone, Trudy and I were told to go outside and play. Trudy went to the barn and I played with the dog. Unknown to me, crows and other animals would steal the dog’s food; so to prevent this, Auntie Kay and Uncle Gerald had started putting the dog’s food under the car near the house. When the dog went under the car, I lay down on the ground and reached in to touch the dog to see if he would come out from under the car and play with me. Well, the dog turned around and viciously bit me in the face, so I went crying to Mom in the house. My face, my hands, and my shirt were all covered with blood. My face was bleeding very badly, so Mom and Auntie Kay took me to the doctor in Harris, Saskatchewan, a hick, one-horse town with one doctor.

I’m not sure if this was the fourth, fifth, or even the sixth traumatizing thing that had happened to me by this point in my life. They laid me on a table, then they had at least eight people hold me down and keep my head still as the doctor came at my eyes with the stitching needle over and over and over again until I had twenty stitches.

The next traumatizing thing happened to me that night when we sat down to dinner. My eyes were swollen shut from the freezing. Andy sat next to me at the dinner table so he could exact his revenge on me for causing trouble. As soon as I realized my father was sitting beside me, I knew I was going to get a beating of some kind. I sat there trying to be a good little five-year-old boy. When I didn’t start eating right away, Mom asked me why I wasn’t eating my food. At that very moment, I knew Andy was going to hit me, so tears started running down my face, but I didn’t make a sound. I told Mom, “I can’t see my food.” Right then, Andy hit me in the back of my head so hard that my face smashed into my plate of food. No one said a word. Now I had gravy and mashed potatoes all over my face along with blood and tears pouring down my face, because Andy had hit me so hard that he had opened up some of my stitches. Then, with the blood, tears, gravy, and mashed potatoes all over my face, he made me sit there and eat my food until I finished everything on my plate. This traumatized me really bad and this is my most vivid memory of my whole childhood.

•   •   •

From time to time, Trudy and I would get into fights, like all brothers and sisters did and still do today. Anyway, Trudy would run to Andy and then I would get a good beating. Every summer, we would have to take the five-hour trip to see Grandpa and Grandma in Kelowna, BC. This was a lot better than going to see Auntie Kay and Uncle Gerald because we were driving through the mountains. It was nice and cool, and there was so much to see along the trip.

We had lots of cousins to play with. We even had some older cousins that would take us places to see all the monster cedar trees. These trees were so large it would take twenty people holding hands together to complete a circle around just one tree. Then our cousins would take us down to the beach, where we could swim in the lake.

But then we would have to drive the five hours back. Trudy and I would get cranky, and of course I would get one or two backhands from my father.

Chapter 3: The Nightmare

We skip forward a year. I was now six years old, and I started to have this nightmare about my father. It would go as follows: Everywhere it was black, and in the distance would be Andy’s angry face. His head would start coming right at me. The closer it got to me, the bigger the head would get. It just kept coming at me, faster and faster, closer and closer, until it suddenly stopped just before it touched my face. It would scare me so much that at that point I would wake up, short of breath and everything. I had this exact same nightmare over and over at least once a week until I was nineteen years old.

By the time I was six, it was very clear to me I was unwanted and unloved, so I learned very early to stay out of the way and just make myself scarce. Even when I did everything my mother and father told me to do, they never told me I did good. There was no positive reinforcement at all. Because nothing I did was good enough and the tone in my parent’s voices was always dismissive. I just found things to do away from everybody whenever I could. But I never stopped trying to please my parents. I would always try to do the best I could at whatever I was doing. I would try my best to do each and every thing I did better than everybody else, just to please my parents. Basically, I had to teach myself how to do things. Having to teach yourself how to do things is not easy. There was no one there to tell me if I got it right. One thing I could not teach myself was how to communicate properly with people. It’s just not possible when there’s no one there to talk to.

It was at about this time that my mom told me not to lie, because if you lie, she warned, you will have to tell another lie to cover up the first lie and so on. So I thought about this. One day I told a lie, then later that day I had to tell another lie to cover up the first lie, just like my mother had said. From that day on, I did my very best not to lie. Other than basic hygiene and a few table manners, this is the one thing that my mother taught me.

Telling the truth became everything to me, so when I spoke I would be frank, honest, and straightforward. Later in life, telling the truth got me in trouble quite often. I took telling the truth to the extreme over time. Year after year, it became the most important thing to me. In fact, if I tried to tell a lie, it would show all over my face. But I am getting too far ahead of myself here.

Now that I was six years old, I started going to kindergarten. School was like my “Great Escape.” There was finally someone to play with and teachers who actually wanted to teach you something, and when you did what they taught you they said you did good. I now had a new positive atmosphere where I could learn things with someone to be there and tell me if I did it right.

Then there were all the other kids to play with. It was not easy for me as I never had kids to play with. Having no example to imitate left me with no real personality. I could not properly express myself. My sister Trudy, who is only ten months older than me, is really the only person I have had to play with and talk to. She has been the one good thing in my life. My communication skills were very bad, but at least I could be near other kids and watch the way other kids played and talked. I wanted so badly to be accepted. I was really starved for love and acceptance.

With school there was a positive influence in my life now, so things were starting to look up for me. But I always would have a problem communicating throughout my life. All I knew was to tell the truth.

Back at home it was the same thing: Mom putting vodka in her coffee, then Dad coming home and starting to drink whiskey, smoke cigarettes, and watch TV while he waited for his supper to be ready.

•   •   •

I was seven years old now and in grade one at a Catholic school just half a block from home. I tried awkwardly to fit in during recesses and lunch hours. It was very awkward and unnatural for me because, basically, I had been taught absolutely nothing when it came to communicating with anyone. My parents had never taught me how to act in any social situation. My father and mother never talked to me at all. How am I going to make friends? I didn’t know how to ask kids to play with me or that I should offer to help someone with something. How am I supposed to learn the very simple things like how to introduce myself or how to tell a joke or how to break the ice? I was never taught any of these things.

It was in grade one at St. Anne’s Elementary School that I met Danny, a boy the same age and in the same class. It just so happened Danny lived up the alley about twelve houses from mine. We became best friends, and as often as possible, we would spend every waking hour together playing. Both of us had one of those Mustang bikes with a banana seat and forked handle bars. They were the original motocross bikes. We had great fun riding our bikes everywhere. Danny even had a sister that was Trudy’s age, and they also became friends. For the very first time in my young life, I was having fun. Before this I did not know what fun was.

At home, I was shown no tenderness or love of any kind. When I was seven, I asked my mom if I could have a hug. My mother replied, “Oh, do you want me to hold you and rock you like a little baby?” To me it was very clear she was belittling me by the way she said it and the fact that she didn’t even bother to look up from what she was doing.

Andy continued to beat me often, but he did not spank me after the age of six. From seven years on he just beat me or hit me full force with backhands to my head. When my father hit me in the head, I did not feel pain. It just made me hate him even more. With every hit, the rage would build up just a little more. One day that volcano was going to explode.

On February 4, 1969, I turned eight years old. One night I was coming out of my room, which was also the laundry room, when Andy was going into the laundry room. I said, “Hi, Dad,” or maybe “Hi, Andy.” I’m not sure which name I used. Right then my father grabbed me by my throat and slammed me against the wall. My feet weren’t touching the floor. Andy started choking me and said, “You will call me father or sir, you got it?” then released me. Just one more traumatizing thing burnt into my memory.

As soon as school let out for the summer, Andy and Mom took us to Uncle Gerald’s and Auntie Kay’s farm in Saskatchewan. As usual, it was very hot and the windows were rolled all the way up. Trudy and I were good for the first four and a half hours, but between the heat and being confined in the back, we started to argue and push each other. Then Andy got mad, and with all his force he reached around and backhanded me on the side of my head, just like he did every time we took this trip. I remember this one especially well because he hit me so hard that my head hit the window. Once again, I did not feel the pain. Instead, I got mad, and my hatred for him grew, and the rage inside me grew more and more each time he hit me.

About two weeks after we got back from the farm, Andy came home from work at the supermarket and told Mom he got fired. He told her it was because he was drinking on the job. But the supermarket was a unionized company, he had ten years working for them as meat department manager, and he was close friends with the store manager. They would not have fired him for that. At the least, he would have got a warning, and at the most, he would have been demoted to a senior meat cutter. But Mom believed him. She believed whatever he told her. She was blinded by love, and divorce was not an option.

Andy and Mom were good friends with Gary and his wife, and Trudy and I were good friends with their kids. Gary was the meat manager at another branch in the city. Ten years later, I found a ’67 Mustang for sale in the paper. When I went to check out the car, I realized it was Gary’s son who was selling the car and that he still lived at home with his parents. Anyway, they invited me over for drinks that night. You see, their daughter was training to become a bartender, so she served everyone different hard-to-make drinks. We got to talking and catching up on what had happened in the past ten years.

Gary told me that about six years before Andy was fired, the store manager would call him up to the office to talk about the lack of profit from the meat department. Andy would blame the cashiers, saying, “If those damn cashiers would ring the meat into the meat department key and not the grocery key, then the profits would show that.” Because the store’s profit margins were within 1 percent of the other stores, the store manager believed him. Then Gary told me the real reason Andy was fired. It was because he had been selling meat out the back door, and he had been doing it for at least six years.

I had never thought about it until that moment, but Mom went back to work at the supermarket once me and Trudy were in school. Everybody at the supermarket was like a big family. Can you imagine everyone talking behind Mom’s back for years about her husband stealing? Imagine how she explained he was an alcoholic and got fired for drinking while everybody knew the real truth but did not tell Mom, because Mom would have quit in shame. And everyone at the supermarket kept the secret for over eighteen years. What kind of man lies to his wife for over twenty years? And makes her suffer all the whispers behind her back? Especially since Mom was one of the first employees to work at the first big grocery store in Calgary. Before Andy got fired, Mom was the most popular woman working there.

That was the same year Mom bought Andy a fishing rod for his birthday. She said it was the most expensive birthday present she ever bought anyone. Because he had a fishing rod, Andy had to go out and buy a Jeep, boat, boat motor, boat trailer, and guns for hunting.

In July, Andy took me and Trudy fishing. He had us sit at the front of the boat for weight. It was really cold and windy, and we never caught anything. We didn’t even get a bite. In August, he took us again. Once again up to the mountains to some lake. It was cold and windy, and once again we never caught anything. You would think I would be happy doing something with my dad, like a normal father and son. But Andy still did not talk to me. He never even looked at me at all.

Trudy never wanted to go fishing again, and neither did I, but the next spring—I think it was May—Dad forced me to go one long weekend. We never caught anything the first two days. On the Monday, I woke up at about 5:00 a.m. I crawled to the tent opening and opened the zipper just enough to stick my head out. The lake was like a mirror with just the smallest amount of mist on the surface. Then I saw the mating dance of two loons. I didn’t know it at the time, but there are very few people who have seen the mating dance of the loons live, or even on film, in the whole world.

Andy thought he knew it all, but he was a lousy fisherman. Instead of going up to the mountain lakes, he could have gone to any fishing shop in the city, and they would have told him that the second best fishing river in the whole world runs right through the city and that a hook, worm, and weight were all that was needed to catch huge trout just minutes from home.

Chapter 4: On My Own

It was June 1970, and school had just let out for the summer. The next day I was walking home one block over from my house when this older and much bigger kid came up to me and started to bully me for my money. I didn’t have any money, so he started hitting me. I blocked the punches. Then the older kid said, “This is my street, so if I see you on my street, you better have some money.” I said, “Yeah, whatever.” Then I walked home. This had happened twice before. Once when I was seven, and once when I was eight, but with different kids.

I lived in one of the poorest areas of town. Two blocks south of my house was the King’s Crew Motorcycle Gang Club House, and two blocks north of my house was the Club House for the Hell’s Angels Motorcycle Gang. Basically, I grew up in the slum part of the city. But most of the people were okay. It was just maybe one kid per block that would bully the younger or smaller kids. Let’s say, if a seven-year-old was walking and an eleven-or twelve-year-old bully came up to him, he would bully the younger kid.

I don’t remember if my dad beat me a lot over the next month, or maybe it was the emotional abuse getting to me, but one day I think I was feeling depressed, so I went for a walk and just kept walking. Subconsciously, I guess I was running away. I don’t remember, but I probably got a few smacks for that, because the police found me and took me home.

After he got fired from the supermarket, Andy bought a three-ton cargo truck to courier packages around the city. When that summer came around, he took me along with him. Every day I would get up at 6:00 a.m. and go with him for ten hours a day. Each time we stopped, I would jump up into the back of the truck, find the right package, and bring it to him. I thought this was great. I actually thought my dad wanted to do something with me. I liked going with him for about the first three weeks, but like at home, Andy never talked to me with the exception of telling me what boxes to go and get with every stop. Then one day he said, “Maybe soon I can start paying you.”

That was it for me. With just a few words, my father had reduced me to a mere employee. I had actually thought he wanted to do something with me because he wanted to be with his son and was maybe starting to like me. Turns out I was just there so Andy didn’t have to jump up into the back of the truck. I was no more than the help. That really hurt me, so that was the last day for me.

Year after year went by, and I was just the boy in the laundry room, left to figure out life all on my own.

•   •   •

About five houses up the alley from my house there lived an older lady. I guess her husband had passed away. Apparently, he had set up a kind of trust fund with some lawyer to take care of his wife in the case he passed away before his wife did. I guess it was a pretty good trust fund, because it took care of absolutely everything she needed.

Anyway, she could not cook, so the lawyer had her meals delivered. He also had a landscaping company come to cut the grass and take care of the flower beds for her. It was August 1970 when the lawyer asked some of her neighbors if there were any young boys living close who might be willing to shovel this lady’s sidewalks in the winter. Somehow my name came up, so this lawyer came over to my house. My mother said, “He’ll do it, but you’re going to pay my son good.” I think my mom came up with the dollar amount. Anyway, it was five dollars for each time I had to shovel her walks. That’s about seventy dollars in today’s money. All I remember, it was a very cold winter, it snowed a lot, and I never saw a dime of that money. Not ever.

One day when I was nine years old, Mom was baking in the kitchen. I think she was making doughnuts. Anyway, this was the first time she told me about the time when I was eight months old and my father spanked me for so long and hard that there was blood in my diaper the next morning and about what she did to cover it up.

That summer, I started walking one day. I didn’t know where I was going, but I never stopped walking. I guess I was subconsciously running away, just like I had done the year before. And as before, the police had to find me and bring me home.

I’m not sure when it was, maybe two or three months before or maybe two or three months afterward, but I remember coming to my mom and asking her if I could have a hug. As she did when I was seven and again last year, she belittled me by saying, “Do you want me to hold you and rock you like a little baby?” I just said no, hung my head, and went down to my laundry room and closed the door.

•   •   •

The year was 1971, and I was ten years old. All my aunts and uncles from Andy’s side of the family were in town because one of my older cousins was getting married. Anyway, most of my aunts are over at my uncle’s helping my cousin get ready for her wedding, and all my uncles are over at our place getting drunk in our backyard and having a BBQ.

In any case, my mom had told me and my sister and my dad that she quit smoking cold turkey six weeks ago, but me and Trudy had known for five weeks that she had been going into the bathroom to sneak a smoke whenever she needed one. I don’t know if Andy knew she’d been sneaking smokes and was waiting to catch her or if he hadn’t known about it and had just caught her.

Me and my uncles, my dad’s six older brothers, were all outside enjoying the nice day with some cold beer when all of a sudden Andy just threw my mom right through the screen door. My mom flew off the step to crash land on the lawn. All my uncles stood up like they were going to do something about it. None of them did anything.

I stood up. I can’t remember if I said something like, “Well, who the f—k is going to stand up for my mother?” But no one did. I still can’t believe it.

This was the first time I saw Andy get violent with my mom. I had always hoped that it was only me that he took his anger and violence out on, but now I wondered how many times he had hit my mom or done something else.

•   •   •

It was 1972, and I was eleven years old. I’d asked my mom for a hug, but I got the usual response: “Do you want me to hold you like a little baby and rock you back and forth?” I said no, then I just hung my head and went to my room in the laundry room.

Ever since I was eight years old, I would often go to my room, close the door, sit on my bed facing the wall, and just sit there. Maybe I was punishing myself, because I must have done something wrong for my mother and father to not ever talk to me or to even look at me.

My father, especially, had never wanted anything to do with me or even to talk to me. He had never even looked at me since the day I was born. I don’t know what I have ever done to him for him to hate me so.

My mom and dad have both been alcoholics since before Trudy and I were even born and I was the mistake. They always only ever wanted one child. Is that the only reason they never talked to me, never looked at me, never taught me anything, and my father spanked me and beat me my entire childhood?

PART II: BREAKING POINT

Chapter 5: Checkmate

One day when I was eleven years old, I was walking down my back alley and noticed a family moving into one of the houses half way up the street. There was a boy named Terry living there. Terry was my age, but he was a lot bigger than me. We talked for a little while.

A few days later, Terry and I were playing when Terry started to boss me around. I didn’t like this, so I told Terry I had to go home and left. This Terry kid followed me home. My mother and father weren’t there, so this Terry kid started to boss me around and bully me.

I got mad and told Terry to get the hell out of my house, but this Terry kid said no. Well, I got real mad and grabbed a handful of Andy’s good knives off the wall and threw them at this Terry kid. Most of the knives hit the floor, but this Terry bully got the message and left.

A short time later my mom got home, and I told her what had happened. Everything would have been okay except the set of knives were bone-handled and two of them broke when they hit the wall and floor. My mom told me I would have to tell my father when he got home. I was scared of how bad a beating I was going to get.

After Andy got home, poured himself a whiskey, and sat down in the living room, I went and told him everything that had happened. When I finished, Andy did not say a word. I stood there for about two minutes waiting for my beating to take place, but nothing. So I went and sat on my bed in the laundry room, confused—so confused.

When I was in grade five, I wanted to learn to play chess because I thought it would exercise my brain. So I watched a couple of guys play a few games at school and learned how the pieces move. That night, I found Andy’s old wooden chess set and asked him to play. He said, “You set up the board,” so I did. Andy continued to drink and watch TV while he played me.

We played game after game. I lost every game. Andy still didn’t look at me or talk to me. But this time I didn’t care about that. The important thing was Andy wasn’t letting me win. You only learn when you lose. I was going to learn by losing until I could beat Andy fair and square. So night after night, game after game, we played. Slowly, after four months of playing every night, three to four games a night, I got better. I was now thinking three moves ahead. Not just for myself but for my opponent as well. Six months later, one night in mid-August, I was thinking seven moves ahead for myself and seven moves ahead for my opponent, which calculated to over fifteen thousand possible different combinations. After each move, there were fifteen thousand new scenarios for me to consider. If Andy had let me win, even just the odd game, I would never have taught myself how to think seven moves ahead. This made me almost unbeatable. For the first time ever, I won most of the games against Andy. After about a week, he no longer wanted to play chess with me.

When I started grade six in September, I found a few guys playing chess at lunchtime. I asked if I could join in and play. I think there were just five or six of us in the beginning, but within a month there were about fifteen of us playing every lunch hour. One of these guys was named John, and he and I became close friends. He was almost as good as me.

In late October, the teacher thought it would be a good idea to have a tournament. Every kid thought it would be fun, so almost the whole class signed up. On Monday, the tournament started. Me and John were heavy favorites to win. But the very first kid that I played against made a childish four-move checkmate. I thought no one would even try to play such a simple move in a tournament, and so I was the very first player out. It took until Friday to declare a winner. I was the first to go over and congratulate John on winning the tournament.

The next Monday, I wanted to see what would have happened if I had not lost that first game of the tournament. So when lunchtime came around, I asked John for a game of chess. John said sure. As soon as we sat down to play, the whole class gathered around to watch. It took thirty minutes, but in the end I was victorious. We played every day that week. The games were very close, but I eventually won each game. John was still the class champion, and that was all good with me. We became best friends but found other things to challenge ourselves. We worked together on almost everything. Two heads are better than one.

•   •   •

The year was 1973, and I was twelve years old. Some kid about fourteen years old had just introduced me and my friend to marijuana. Me and my friend Mike were just sitting on the lawn in front of the church hall. I didn’t know this kid, but Mike knew him. He was just walking by when he saw Mike, so we three smoked a joint.

That was the year I got challenged to a fight behind the warehouse after school. I think this guy was hoping I was going to back down, but I had been physically abused my whole childhood. There was no way I was going to back down. Besides, if I backed down I’d be labeled a chicken, and there was no way I was going to let that happen.

As we left the school, about twenty kids followed to watch the fight. We both threw about twenty punches before I landed a real hard one to his face and he said, “I quit.” I thought that was good, because I had hit him so hard I broke a knuckle in my right hand.

One afternoon shortly after I turned twelve years old, I started having severe chronic pain about three inches below my waist and just to the right side. I was lying on the couch at about 5:00 p.m., and I was crying out in pain.

Mom thought I might be faking it, so she asked me if I wanted some ice cream. I said I would try and eat some. About five minutes after I did, my pain doubled in severity. Mom took me to the hospital.

A young intern saw me. He told me to remove my underwear and lie on my side. Then I got a real shock. This intern put his finger into my bum. He felt around for five seconds then told me to put my pants back on. Then he gave me a shot of Demerol for the pain and told Mom it was probably the stomach flu and sent us home.

I slept through the night, but the next day the pain was worse than ever. At about 3:00 p.m., Mom took me to see our family doctor. He had me lay on my back, then he felt my abdomen. Right away, he said, “Take him next door to see the surgeon.” So two minutes later, we were in the surgeon’s office. The whole waiting room was full. There wasn’t even an empty chair to sit in, but they rushed me into an exam room. The surgeon poked at my abdomen in a two-inch circle and said, “Take him to the hospital. I’m going to operate in twenty minutes.” They were waiting for me when we got to the hospital and took me to the children’s floor and put me in a private room. A male nurse came to shave me for the operation. Then they put me to sleep and took me for surgery.

Four hours later, I woke up in severe pain. I cried out in agony. A pretty young nurse came with a needle and stuck it in my leg, right through my pajamas and all. Then she told me I would fall sleep soon. Before I did, she put a call button in my hand and told me to push the button when I was in pain and a nurse would come with a needle full of morphine to take away the pain. I got a shot every four hours for the next five days. Then they cut me off the morphine all together so I would not become addicted.

I had appendicitis. If the surgeon had not operated when he did, I would have died. In fact, my appendix burst right when he was operating. They sucked out as much of the poison as they could, then they put a tube about nine inches long inside me.

While I was on morphine, I had no inhibitions. All the nurses were so pretty, and I would come on to each and every one of them. They must have thought I was the horniest guy on the planet. I think they liked it. I would tell them how pretty they were and compliment them on their eyes and hair. It was harmless fun.

Once I no longer needed morphine, I had to walk up and down the hall to loosen up my stomach muscles. Two nurses would come, one on each arm, to help me. After the first three days of help, the nurses would bribe me with ice cream to get me to walk on my own. They took the tube out, one inch per day. When they took off the bandage they kept over the tube, I could see the yellowish-brown poison that was excreted by my body daily. After eight days, they took the tubing out and sewed up the one-inch hole in my abdomen along with the four inches of stitching where my appendix had been. Then I went home.

It wasn’t long after that the physical, emotional, and psychological abuse really started getting to me. From the day I was born until then, I had never been told by either of my parents that I was loved or wanted, and I had never received even one hug. I was never told I was good at something. My parents would not even look at me when they talked to me. It was always “go to your room,” which was the laundry room with a single bed in it, or go outside and do something. It was always in a dismissive manner.

So one day I decided to run away. I left with just the clothes on my back and did not say a word—just left. I’m not sure, maybe five or six hours had gone by, and I was still walking, not knowing or caring where I was or where I was going.

Then this cop car drove up to me and the one officer asked me if I’m James. I replied yes, so they said, “Get in, your parents are looking for you.” So I got in the back, but I told the officers I didn’t want to go home, so they took me to the police station, where I sat on a desk while these two officers did some paperwork. About twenty minutes later, one officer came up to me and said, “So, you want to go home?” I firmly said, “No.”

After the two officers talked for a couple of minutes, one officer said, “Okay, let’s go.” So I got into the car with him. He took me to juvenile detention—a jail for kids. These two officers never once asked me why I didn’t want to go home or why I was running away, or anything. Nor did they take me to social services so I could have been adopted or placed with a family.

You see, back in those days, the police let the man of the house do whatever he wanted. It didn’t matter if the husband beat his wife or forced her to do things, or if the father wanted to beat and abuse the kids. They would just turn a blind eye to whatever went on behind closed doors.

This was the third time I had run away. This was my third cry for help. First at eight years old, then at ten years old. Later, my mom told me I used to wander off between the ages of four and seven.

All these times I ran away or wandered off, the police just kept putting me back in that house for more physical, emotional, and psychological abuse. That’s what I had to look forward to, day after day. So the system failed to help me once again.

So now I was in juvenile detention with all the doors locked with alarms on them. One of the staff welcomed me and got me settled in a bunk bed. He gave me some pj’s and some other clothes, a comb, and a toothbrush. Then he asked me if I was hungry and got me some food when I said yes.

While I was eating, he explained how things were done there. Bed times, bath times, meal times, and wake up times. So after I ate it was bedtime. The next thing I knew, it was 7:00 a.m., and I was told to get up, make my bed, then come have some breakfast.

After breakfast, I showered and put clean clothes on, the same as I have done all my life. Then it was time for school. I wondered if I would have to explain where I was in each subject—math, English, science, etc., but no one said a word to me.

They put all of us in one class. They told us to pick a seat and get settled, so I did. I was looking forward to seeing what and how they were going to teach all of us, being different ages.

Then the teacher turned down the lights and put on a film. I thought, “Great! I like the films that they showed us back in my school.” I assumed these would be similar. The film started, and it was a film on personal hygiene: how and when to take a bath, how to wash each part of the body from your hair to your toes, and so on. After an hour and half of this, there was a question period to see if everyone had learned what was on the film.

Then it was time for gym. They made us change, then we did some stretching and some warm-up exercises. Then they wanted us to climb up this big thirty-foot rope to the ceiling, ring a bell, then climb back down. When it was my turn, I thought I’d show off a bit, see if I could impress the girls. It took me thirty-five seconds to ring the bell and four seconds to climb down. I achieved my goal of impressing the girls, and everyone else, too. Out of twenty kids, me and four other kids were the only ones to make it to the top. Later, they told me they thought I set a new record for the rope and bell exercise. “Whatever,” I thought, but I said, “Oh, really? Cool.” We did some more exercises in the gym for the rest of the hour, then showered.

After gym class, they told us we had an hour of free time before lunch. I was shy at that time, so I started looking out the windows. I found out later that we were not allowed to go outside at all. Never!

After lunch, we went back to the school room. As the teacher was setting up the projector, I noticed no one had any school books at all. No one. Odd, I thought. This film was on nutrition and what to eat, then how to brush your teeth. After this film, they played another. I forget the topic, but it was along the same line as the first two.

That was it for school for the day. We had an hour and a half until supper, and we could do anything we wanted. I walked around the place, just checking it out to see what was what and where things were. After that, I went and stared out one of the windows. I was feeling depressed and really unsure as to what the near future had in store for me.

After a little while, a counsellor came up to me and asked me how I was doing getting settled in and finding things.

“Okay, I guess,” I answered.

“Well, if you need help finding something or anything, you can ask me or any one of the staff.”

She never asked me why I was there or how I was feeling. Maybe she had already seen my file or was told by another staff member.

“We’re not allowed outside,” I said.

“No.”

“Not ever?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I understand.”

I got to thinking about my parents and how I was so unwanted and unloved from even before I was born until now at twelve years of age. I had gone through twelve years of being unwanted and unloved, abused physically, emotionally, and psychologically. Why, oh why, didn’t my parents put me up for adoption as soon as they knew about me? There could have been couples unable to conceive, wanting just that—a newborn baby to adopt. At least then I would have had parents who wanted me and would have loved me. I could have grown up wanted and loved.

I went and sat down at a table where some other kids and staff were sitting. I kept to myself, being shy and the new guy on the block. Soon supper came, and we ate. We played cards after supper, until it was bedtime.

The next morning we got woken up at 7:00 a.m. I made my bed, had a shower, and dressed. When breakfast came, I ate and got ready for school. The school day went along the same as it did the first day. After about four or five days of this, I decided to tell them to take me back to my parents. If I had stayed there, I would have grown up worse than I did growing up at home and going to a normal school, where at least I had peers I could learn from and get a normal education.

When I got home, my parents did not even say one word to me, so I went to my bed in the laundry room at the back of the house. I wondered how my parents felt when the police told them I did not want to be returned home and that I would rather stay in jail than live with them.

The next day, I got up and went to school, just like I never missed a day. When I got home from school, my parents had nothing to say to me. Nothing changed at home. It was the same as before I ran away.

Chapter 6: My Self-Confidence Grows

It was 1974, and I was thirteen years old. For thirteen years I had to learn everything by myself. For thirteen years there had been no relationship between me and my parents. Never once was I ever told I was loved. Never once was I given a hug. I was just the boy in the laundry room. My parents put food on my plate, made sure I had clean clothes, and sent me to school. To them that was all they were obligated to do with me.

For thirteen years, I had suffered through the physical abuse from my father and the emotional and psychological abuse from not only my father but my mother too. The physical abuse had made me tough. My dad spanked me until the age of five. After that, he would hit me in the head, mostly backhands. From the age of six I would not feel the pain. All these years of abuse had taken their toll on me. Instead, I would feel mad, and with each beating, my hatred of my father grew more and more.

From all the abuse and being made to feel that I was totally unwanted and unloved, I started feeling very angry and mad at my parents—and the whole world, for that matter. If I could not please my parents, then I was going to please myself. I started doing what I wanted, when I wanted, and to hell with my alcoholic parents.

Slowly, from the age of six, I had been getting more and more depressed from all the abuse. Anyway, my mom went over to the school and talked to the guidance counsellor about giving me tests to see if there was something wrong with me.

All of a sudden, my name came over the intercom, asking me to report to the office. I had no idea why I was called. The counsellor had me do three or four tests. The next day she gave me four more different tests. I did them quickly. It was like my brain was a computer. This went on day after day, nonstop test after test with no break in between at all. I had no idea what this was about. Anyway, twenty-five days and a hundred tests later, I was called to her office, so I went and waited outside her door.

I could hear the counsellor and my mom talking. The counsellor told my mom about all the tests.

“He is very, very smart. I gave him different IQ tests, and he scored in the top one percent for his age. There’s nothing wrong with him psychologically. How’s everything at home?”

“His father and him don’t have the best relationship.”

“That’s where the problem is, at home! Fix the problems at home, because that’s where the problems are.” She called me in, talked to my mom some more, then I went back to class. My mom said nothing and left. The counsellor said I could go back to class, so I did.

•   •   •

Beginning with winning my first ever fight at age twelve, my self-confidence had started to grow. I’d had to learn everything myself, so now I was starting to get a little wild. My parents hadn’t had anything to teach me, so now I was going to do it my way. I started wearing bell bottom pants. I started drinking and smoking.

Up until then, every time my parents had sent me to the barber, the barber would use the razor to give me a buzz cut, which left me with only a quarter inch of hair. But when my hair grew, it would cut the top of my ears, so when I was twelve I started growing my hair long. My timing was perfect, because six months later all the guys started letting their hair grow long. It was the new style. I had been growing my hair down to my shoulders.

I had been starved for love for thirteen years, and now I was going through puberty and was ready to fall in love with a different girl each week. I was popular with the girls at school. There started being parties all over the place. Most parents worked until 5:30 or 6:00 p.m., so there would be two or three parties after school each week. I was the first kid in school to wear white runners. I got teased the first week, but then everybody started wearing white runners. Because I stepped up first to wear them, that made me more popular with the girls. I started to grow facial hair. Along with the facial hair, I got a problem with pimples. I had acne for about six months, during which time I never had a girlfriend or even a date. Then one day that summer, my mother took me to see my family doctor for my yearly physical. After the doctor finished my physical he said to me, “You have acne!” I said, “Yeah, it’s been a problem for about six months now.” My doctor replied, “In this day and age, there’s no reason for someone to suffer through that.” He gave me a prescription for some cream and sent me on my way.

We stopped at the drug store on the way home, and I got the cream. As soon as I got home, I put some of this cream on. The next morning I put the cream on again, like the directions on the tube said to. Well, I must have used that cream no more than five days and all my pimples and acne were gone. Not even a red spot or anything. I put the cream in the medicine cabinet in case I needed it again, but I never did. I never got a pimple again.

When I started school in September, I started to get invited to parties and the girls started checking me out. Every time I turned around, there would be girls staring at me. When I would look right at them, they would just keep on staring at me, then they would cover their mouths and giggle with each other, the way girls do.

With no pimples, when I asked a girl out I almost never got turned down. Ever since then I’ve never had a problem getting a date.

With all the girls starting to pay a lot of attention to me, my self-confidence started growing by leaps and bounds. There was just one problem. During the six months that I had a problem with pimples, I got turned down every time I asked a girl out. This was one thing I had a hard time with—rejection.

Being rejected by my parents all my life, then being turned down each time I asked a girl out during those six months I had pimples, was hard on my psyche. Rejection was the one thing I took hard.

Now with no pimples, all the girls liked me a lot, but because of being turned down during those six months, I asked girls out a lot less than most guys. If a girl liked me, she would have to get her girlfriend to tell me she liked me a lot. Then we would hook up, if I liked the girl too. After a while, my self-confidence grew, and I started asking girls out more. Nine out of ten girls would say yes when I asked them out. But I always had a problem with rejection. It’s a good thing for me that almost every girl that liked me would let me know one way or another.

My entire childhood, I never got any positive reinforcement for anything I did. I was never told I was loved by my mother or father. Once, I heard my mother tell someone that I did a good job of cleaning my room, but it was just by chance I had overheard part of a conversation not meant for me.

So, not getting positive reinforcement for doing good would sometimes lead me to do some bad things just to get some attention, which led to some petty crimes, but nothing serious.

I turned into a bad boy, with long hair, jeans, jean jacket, and runners, looking for a good time. But if trouble came along, I was ready for that too. I did what I wanted when I wanted to do it, and to hell with my alcoholic parents. They never gave a shit about me, anyway. Ever since I was thirteen and a half, I was one of the cool guys in school. One of five in my class of over thirty.

In April, I started to sneak out at night to meet my friends and do things. Since my bedroom was the laundry room at the back of the house, my parents could not hear me come and go out my window.

After about a month of sneaking out, Andy must have heard me come back one night because the next day there was a nail in the window frame. But I could still open the window just enough to squeeze through, so I continued to sneak out with my friends almost every night. It was the cool spring air and quiet nights that called me and my friends out to explore farther and farther each night.

Sneaking out at night, myself and my two buddies would do some stupid things, like raiding gardens and things like that, but we never bullied any younger kids, and we never hurt anyone. I was a victim of physical abuse my entire childhood.

When I went out, I just wanted to have fun. I wanted to do everything I missed growing up when I was not being accepted for who I was. Being starved for love in childhood made me fall in love with a different girl every other week since I turned twelve years old.

Basically, we were looking for fun things to get into wherever we could find it. First we hit the railroad yards, since they were only three blocks away. Night after night, we start exploring farther and farther away from home. Believe it or not, we never vandalized any property at all. Ever!

When summer came around, we started finding girls who were also sneaking out. One night, three of us guys snuck out about midnight and found ourselves down by the river.

We were walking along this path worn through the bushes, and we happened along this Indian chick in the bushes by the river. She said she was from a tribe about three thousand miles away. She started telling us that when there were visitors to her tribe, it was her job to make the guests happy sexually. We listened, and she said some of these visitors were covered in bear grease so they did not smell very good.

As it turned out, this Indian chick did not like to have sex, but she did like to give oral sex. She told two of us to go and wait about fifty or so yards away, then about ten to fifteen minutes later our friend came out and sent the next one of us in, so each of us in turn went to see her.

One of the strange things was all three of us were still virgins.

Night after night, we snuck out after midnight and went down to these bushes by the river and got oral sex. This went on for about a month. What teenage boy wouldn’t go back night after night?

After the first week, she brought down some pictures that she drew. My friends didn’t think much about them, but I thought she was a very good artist. All the pictures were of Indian villages with horses and people and mountains in the background. To this day, I’ve never seen anyone who could draw better than this girl could.

I was almost fourteen years old now, and the physical abuse over that time hardened me and made me tough. Not being told I was loved, not even once, and never ever receiving a hug from either of my parents left me love-starved. Being unwanted my whole life forced me to learn everything on my own.

Being pushed away by my parents forced me to find out life’s lessons on my own. At least at school I had teachers and my peers to learn from. Over the past year I had explored the world my own way. I did what pleased me, and this led to a lot of self-confidence. Because of that self-confidence, I was accepted as one of the more cooler guys in grade seven.

I taught myself how to fight by watching karate, tae kwon do, and other martial arts shows on TV. I learned how to throw a punch with such force that I could break boards—or someone’s face, if needed—and how to make sure my punches would cut the skin enough to need stitches without leaving a scratch on my knuckles.

There was a spring dance in April of that school year. I liked this one girl. She was a tomboy and one of the prettiest girls in school. I decided to ask her to come with me to the dance and right away she said yes. The dance was the first real dating opportunity for us in grade seven.

Before the school year was over, I would have to prove for the second time that I could fight. With ten or so onlookers, I made sure I won the fight so word would get around school not to mess with me. And it did.

Chapter 7: Ape Man

It was late February 1975, and I was fourteen years old. Another one of my older cousins was getting married. All the relatives from Andy’s side of the family were in town for the wedding. Grandpa and Grandma were staying with us. All my aunts, uncles, and cousins rented the whole floor of a hotel for everybody else.

The wedding reception was held at a community hall. Everything went great at the wedding and the reception. I was only thirteen, but my uncles were running the bar, so I got to drink rum and coke all night. If anyone asked, I just had to say it was only coke.

The hall was rented until midnight, so all my aunts started cleaning up everything at 11:00 p.m. Everybody on the bride’s side of the family headed back to the hotel to continue the party there. My aunts showed up about midnight. My uncles sneaked me more rum and coke at the hotel. Everybody was partying at the one end of the floor, in three or four rooms.

Everybody was having a good time, then about 1:30 a.m. two of my uncles cornered me at the end of the hall. When they had made sure I was cornered, my Uncle Wally told me that my dad had hit my mom. Well, I went nuts. I wanted to beat the f—k out of him, but there was no way my two uncles were going to let me get by them. My Uncle Ted went to get me a drink to calm me down. About ten minutes later, another one of my uncles came to tell us my dad had left.

Then I found out what had happened. My mom had been sitting at the end of one of two beds in the room talking to one of my uncles, with about eight other people in the room. Andy got jealous and hit my mom. Like she would be flirting with my dad’s brother with eight other people in the room. Yeah, right!

Anyway, me, my mom, Trudy, and Grandpa and Grandma went home. I had to drive. I was okay to drive at this point. I was just fuming, so my emotions took over control more than the rum and cokes.

So we got home, and Andy was there. Grandma sat at the table with my sister, and my mom stood by the sink. Grandpa was by the fridge, and I was just by the entrance to the kitchen.

When Andy came into the kitchen, Grandma said to him, “You hit women. You hit your wife. You are no son of mine!” Then Andy fell at my grandma’s feet and said, “Momma, you are the only woman I have ever loved.” Just then, my grandpa grabbed his chest and fell against the fridge. I knew right away that he was having a heart attack. So I ran to the phone and called an ambulance. The ambulance showed up in less than two minutes and took my grandpa to the hospital.

Then I drove me and my mom and my grandma to the hospital. Mom told me not to phone any of my aunts or uncles, but I phoned my favorite Uncle Wally and asked him to come down but not tell anybody else.

So Uncle Wally showed up and thanked me for phoning. We waited about two hours for word from the doctor. They decided to hold him overnight, so my Uncle Wally waited with my grandma, and I drove Mom home. By the time we got home, everybody had gone to bed, so we did the same.

•   •   •

Growing up, I was raised Catholic and went to Catholic schools. My mom took us to church every Sunday. Andy never went to church. After I turned seven, we all stopped going to church.

Starting when I was very young, I liked to watch all the nature shows and educational specials, like National Geographic and the films of Jacques Cousteau. All through the sixties and early seventies, shows like National Geographic taught everyone that man evolved from ape. From apes in trees to apes walking upright, from Cro-Magnon to modern man. These were the scientists, the experts telling everyone this and that this was now fact. They did not put this like it was a possibility. No, they firmly stated that this was fact. They made it clear to everyone that when two or more scientists agreed on something, it was now a fact. If it was now a fact, well, no one was allowed to argue with fact, and that was that.

For ten years, they showed the same National Geographic shows on TV. They would always show the same chart, with an ape on the left end, then four or five ape-men, then Homo sapiens or modern man on the right end. Always a show with the same chart, but they never told us who invented fire or the wheel.

Starting in grade six when I was eleven, they taught us the same thing. Remember, this was a Catholic school. I remember the picture in our textbooks—it was the same graph I had seen on National Geographic—showing that we evolved from ape to man and that this was now a fact, and we were not allowed to argue with something that was a fact. In grade seven, they added that we all came from Africa and evolved over millions of years.

From the time I was six years old, I was left with no other option but to accept that this was fact, forced to believe that then there was no God, no creation, no Adam and Eve, no Jesus, no angels or heaven. Even to this day, they pound this idea into our kids’ heads. So, by age fourteen, I was forced to believe that there was no God. I was given no other choice.

Chapter 8: My Escape

In June of 1976, we moved to an upper middle class neighborhood. It was a nice area with tree-lined streets. My mother, father, and sister lived upstairs. As for me, I was made to live in a room in the basement under the stairs. At least this was next to the laundry room, and not in it.

In my room under the stairs, I created a place where I could escape all the physical, emotional, and psychological abuse from my parents. On the cement walls under the stairs, I put up blacklight posters and added a black light and a cheap stereo to complete a place where I could escape the abuse, if only for short periods of time. Later, I added some cheap headphones to make the escape just a little bit better.

I’m afraid the emotional and psychological damage had already been done by my father and mother over the past fifteen years. We were only two months in the new house when my alcoholic mother once again told me the story about my father spanking me, at eight months of age, until it caused internal bleeding and about everything she did to cover it up. I’m sure she had been drinking, and only she knows why, but this was the second time she had told me this story in every horrific detail. As if I needed to hear that story one more time. She told me she was proud of her husband for being willing to take the blame for beating me so badly that I had internal bleeding. So she told me how she made up the whole story to cover up for my father. I wonder how many times she covered up the physical abuse of my father beating me to injury.

New neighborhood or not, we were the same dysfunctional family. And like I said, the damage had already been done to me.

•   •   •

It was August, and I had spent the whole summer golfing. First, my mom had pawned me off on my Aunt Josie in a small town in Saskatchewan where there was nothing to do. Uncle Jack works on the farm every day and there was no way I was there for that. At least they had a golf club, so every day I went and played golf.

But after two days, I was out of money. There’s a creek running all throughout the golf course, so I put shorts on and grabbed some plastic bags and went off to the creek to pick golf balls out. Just my luck, no one’s had this idea before. Before I made it a hundred feet, I had ten dozen balls, so off home I went to clean up the balls and see if I could sell some to the club members.

I cleaned them up, and there was about eight dozen that were keepers. My aunt gave me egg cartons to put them in. The next morning, I was up early to have breakfast with my aunt and uncle, then off I went to the golf club to see if I could sell some balls. After four hours, I’d sold zero golf balls, so I hung my head and headed back home. My aunt had mercy on me and bought the whole eight dozen at three dollars each. That was just perfect. Club rentals were five dollars and a round of golf was fifteen dollars, with four dollars left over.

I got dressed for golf and off I went to play. After the round, I headed to the creek for more golf balls, then back home for supper and an early night so I could get up early to golf some more. I was lucky my aunt and uncle were well off as far as money was concerned. Every day I went golfing and then hit the creek for more golf balls, and every day my aunt bought every dozen I got. By the end of the two weeks, my aunt had enough golf balls to last her the next five years or so. I thanked her every single day for everything, not just buying the balls. After the two weeks, they put me on the bus for home. Best vacation I ever had.

About a week after I got home, my Cousin Allan called from the farm and asked if he could move in with us until he found a job and built up enough money to get a place of his own. My parents told Allan he could come out and move in anytime he wanted to.

The next week, Allan moved in. There were no empty rooms, so my parents bought another single bed and crammed him in my room under the stairs. We could barely walk between the beds.

With Allan living in my room and us only being three years apart, we started hanging out together. Allan smoked pot, so he started getting me high. I was still only fifteen years old and he was eighteen. Allan smoked pot almost every day, and he would usually offer me some. Being abused all my life, I would take the opportunity to escape the reality of being abused.

After smoking, I would go to my little escape under the stairs with my blacklight posters and cheap stereo and headphones. It was the perfect escape from my life.

Once I turned fifteen, I got a job at a restaurant close to home. I worked almost every night washing dishes at the restaurant. Allan would get me high after I got home from work; maybe he didn’t want to get high alone, I don’t know. I think he felt guilty just moving into my room without my permission or anything. We made it work, with both our work and school schedules.

I was going to spend the whole summer golfing and my nights working at the restaurant so I could pay for the golf. I set my sights on golfing every day, and I did at least eighteen holes, some days twenty-seven. I’d had to teach myself everything in life up to this point, and there wasn’t going to be a change in that situation. Since I was thirteen years old, I wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s only two things I’ve learned from my parents: that’s manners and not to lie. The rest I’ve had to teach myself and most of that is by trial and error. Most people have found my openness and honesty a nice change, so I’m going to stick with that.

•   •   •

In September, I started grade nine in a new school. New kids and a whole new cool crowd. I made friends with a few guys and went to some after-school parties. These kids smoked pot, so I did some, too, to try and fit in. These kids had money and a lot of cool stuff, like record collections, among other things. I never had money, at least not very much.

I tried to fit in with the cool crowd, but everyone in that crowd had been friends for years and years. They all grew up together in this school. The girls liked me well enough, but like I said, these kids all grew up together, and it’s hard to fit in when you’re the new kid. I could be friends with some, but not all. I didn’t have a reputation in this school, and one or two months is enough time to get one, unless I wanted to start breaking heads; and if I did that, someone was going to get hurt. I hung around at lunch but just never got the chance to be one of the gang.

Come October, I started to get bored with school and the whole scene, so I started cutting class, but I could not go home. Mom only worked part time, being new to the area and all, so I would ride the bus until it was time to go home. That got boring fast, so it was either go to school or start going downtown. I started going downtown to see just what there was to do down there. At first I would walk through the large downtown mall and look at things and the people in the mall.

After about a week of walking the mall, I decided to see what else was down there to do, so I went for a walk down one avenue. I found an arcade with a diner right next door. I’d done the pinball thing, so that was boring now, so I decided to go next door and have a coffee and smoke in the diner.

This diner was all right, clean with some booths where a guy could sit and have some privacy. There were no waiters at this diner, so I ordered a coffee at the counter. Then I got a booth and read the paper and smoked a cigarette. The coffee actually was good and that’s a rare thing. The refills were free, and it was warm inside, so there I sat reading the paper, drinking coffee, and smoking the rest of the afternoon, at least until it was time to head for home.

I had pretty much decided that I was going to be there a lot, so the next day instead of getting off where the bus stopped at my school, I rode it all the way downtown and straight to the coffee shop. I ordered a coffee, grabbed a booth, and found a paper, and that’s where I spent the next four hours—just reading the paper and people watching as a pastime. When three o’clock hit, I took the next bus home. I went to my room under the stairs with my black light, posters, headphones, and rock music until it was almost supper time.

By the end of November, I was cutting class every day and would go straight to the diner to drink coffee and smoke cigarettes and just hang out. Gus was one of the regular cooks. Because I was coming in every day to drink coffee and smoke cigarettes, Gus would come over to my booth and talk to me when he wasn’t busy cooking and taking care of the customers. I was glad to have someone to talk to.

As the days and weeks went on, me and Gus became friends. Gus was a good guy. He had morals and a good head on his shoulders. Gus was about twenty-eight years old and had moved here from Greece. He would tell me things about the world and other good things to know. Gus could tell that I was a smart young man and a good person.

I could sense that Gus was just like me: open and honest. I felt I could confide in Gus and that he would only give me good advice, no matter what subject or what it is related to. So I decided to tell Gus all about the physical, emotional, and psychological abuse I had suffered and was still suffering at the hands of my mother and father.

Since I turned thirteen, every time I was away from my parents, I have had a positive experience and made friends. Just what an abused child needs: positive experiences and acceptance with friendship, leaving him with more self-confidence and a positive outlook on life.

I dreaded having to go home to more physical, emotional, and psychological abuse from my parents, but for now I had no other option. All I could do was stay in my room and go out after supper until it was time to come home and go to sleep.

But I looked forward to tomorrow and going to hang out at the diner and talk to my new friend. Gus was just what I needed. He was a bit of a father figure to me, but he balanced that with being my friend. He was someone who gave me some good advice as well as friendship.

Chapter 9: Becoming a Man

I had started really growing up the day I turned twelve. As November turned to December, I was now just a few months away from turning sixteen. I was getting more and more angry about all the abuse I had suffered my entire childhood.

The physical abuse from my father, well, let’s just say that since I turned six, I never felt any pain when my father hit me. Instead, I would feel anger, and this anger had been building up inside me for nine years now. This anger had been building up like the pressure in a champagne bottle that’s been shaken for nine years, and one of these days the top was going to blow.

Then there’d been the emotional and psychological abuse that I had been suffered at the hands of not only my father but also my mother. Like each time she told me the horrific story about the physical abuse I suffered at the hands of my father when I was just eight months old, or when she would tell one of her friends something about me and not tell me what she said.

With each week that passed in that house, I grew increasingly more and more frustrated. I was stuck there with nowhere to turn, and one of these days I was going to snap. God help who was going to be my outlet for the anger that had built up for the past nine years.

So one day I confided in Gus about this nightmare of my father’s angry head. This was the first time I had ever told anyone about this nightmare. It wasn’t like I could tell my mom or anything. She would just blame me for it. Gus told me that my father was evil and that I needed to get away from that evil or I might never be rid of that nightmare. It made sense to me.

I liked Gus. Everything he had ever told me had made sense. It was very clear to me that he was trying to help me, and he never asked for anything in return. It was nice to know that for once in my life I could talk to someone about anything that was bothering me and I would not be told it was my fault in return.

•   •   •

It was three weeks before my sixteenth birthday. My mother and father had still never once told me I was loved. Not once. They had never given their own son a hug, shown him a kind gesture, or said a kind word. I wonder just what kind of person they thought they were making when they treated me that way my entire childhood. Well, they were about to find out.

One night after supper, I heard Andy coming to attack me. In a second, I decided I was never going to take any more abuse from my father—not ever again.

I readied myself in the living room for the attack. I was six foot one and one hundred forty pounds, and my father was five foot eight and one hundred eighty pounds. I had learned everything I needed from watching karate and tae kwon do shows on TV.

I heard Andy pick up a chair from the kitchen to hit me with. As he came around the corner into the living room, I was ready with adrenaline pumping.

Andy started to swing the chair at me. In a split second, I knew exactly what to do. With one fluid motion, I knocked the chair out of his hands. I got hold of him, and with all my force, I pushed him towards the corner of the room and jammed his head right through the wall, gyprock and all.

Then I used my knee to pin Andy’s body, and with my forearm I pinned his head firmly in the wall. He tried to move, but he could not. I would just apply more pressure to his body and his head.

Then I leaned in and told my father, “If you ever try to hit my mom, my sister, or me ever again, I’ll f—king kill you!” I meant every word and Andy knew it. Then I let him up. He went straight to his room and locked the door, never looking back at me, not once. From that day on, when Andy came home from work he went straight to his room and locked the door.

After winning the battle with my father, I swore I would never take any shit from anybody ever again. If my parents wondered what kind of man they had raised, they knew now: one that was never going to take abuse from another man, no matter what. I had only got in a handful of fights from the time I was twelve until now. All that was about to change in a big way.

Shortly after I turned sixteen, I decided that I no longer wanted to live with my parents anymore. So one night I decided to hitchhike to Kelowna, where my favorite Uncle Wally lived. With just the clothes on my back, I headed out. My little sister begged me not to go, but this was something I just had to do. I took the bus up to highway one on the west side of the city.

At about 7:00 p.m., I reached the city limit and started hitchhiking. Just ten minutes later, I got my first ride. The guy asked if I could drive, and when I answered yes, he said, “You’re driving,” and told me where to stop and wake him up. You see, he was drunk. About sixty miles and an hour later, I stopped where the guy told me to and woke him up.

Well, it took four more driving jobs—and I say “jobs” because each driver was drunk and wanted me to drive while they slept it off—besides the first one to get me where I was going. By about seven in the morning I got to my cousin’s place, and then I finally got to my uncle’s by that night. Uncle Wally let me sleep on the couch in the basement while I looked for a job.

I woke up early the next morning, had a shower, and blended three eggs with some milk, a little sugar, and a squirt of vanilla extract. I drank that down and hit the bricks to look for a job. I must have been to twenty different businesses inquiring about work, but no one was hiring. That did not faze me. About 5:00 p.m., I headed for my uncle’s. Shortly after getting there, it was supper time. I thanked my aunt and uncle for letting me stay there while I looked for a job. After supper, I watched TV for an hour. I was tired from walking all day. I went to sleep quickly.

I woke about 7:00 a.m. the next morning, showered, had my blended breakfast, then headed out again to look for a job. I looked all day, but no one was hiring, so I didn’t even get a chance to fill out an application. There were just no jobs available.

The next day I went to over thirty businesses in search of a job, but once again no one was hiring at all. That night at dinner, my Uncle Wally invited me to a round of golf at the city’s country club. Being a golf fanatic, I accepted for the day after next.

The next day I got up, showered, and had my blended breakfast as I did every morning, then headed out once again to find a job. As I had done the previous three days, I started walking, going from business to business inquiring about any and all jobs available. I kept going all day undeterred from my quest to get a job. About 5:00 p.m., as usual, I headed for home.

The next day after breakfast, my uncle and I got ready to go golfing. It was beautiful all day on a beautiful course. I thought, “This is the closest thing to heaven on earth.” I did not play very well, but I had a lot of fun with my uncle.

On Monday, I returned to looking for work. All week I looked for work, but no one was hiring. Late afternoon on Friday, I stopped at a diner on the highway going into town. They weren’t looking for any help, but they decided to give me a job anyway and hired me as kitchen help at minimum wage. I returned home with the good news for my aunt and uncle.

The next morning, I got up and showered, had breakfast, and went to work. It was so busy that my boss, the owner, had me running all day. I did not get even a five-minute break. I ran all day doing whatever my boss said—no lunch break, and not even a coffee break. By the time I got home, I was just beat. I ran all day long. All I could do was eat supper and go to bed.

The next day, I got showered and had breakfast then went to work. Same as the first day, the owner had me running everywhere, and me being so hard working, I literally ran from task to task. Once again, I did not get a lunch break or even one coffee break. When I got home, I had just enough time to warm up supper, eat, and go to bed.

Day after day it was the same thing. Go, go, go all day long with no breaks and no chance of a slowdown in the things needing to be done. I did not even get one day off a week. Day after day, week after week, it was the same thing—I busted my ass every minute of every hour of every day of every week.

Week after week I worked. My personality made me a very hard worker who wanted to please whoever I worked for. Being starved for love and never being told I did good at anything made me into a perfectionist. I had to do everything as best I could just to please anyone and everyone, no matter how much I had to sacrifice myself.

After working so hard for my boss, one day my boss told me to get something from the walk-in cooler. I was working so hard doing everything my boss told me to do. As I hurried to do everything as fast as I could, I brushed by a large sausage that was hanging up close to the door of the cooler. Anyway, the sausage fell off its nail and landed on some boxes. I thought I’d come back to hang it up later. I wanted to get back to my boss quickly. I did not get a chance to go back and hang up the sausage again. When my boss went into the cooler and found the sausage on the boxes, he fired me.

I left as soon as I was fired. I could not believe I got fired over a sausage on a box. I could not have worked harder for my boss than I had over those six weeks. I was so hurt and insulted by getting fired after working so hard for this man that I did not even go back for my final paycheck.

I decided not to look for work in this city again. I knew I could find a job far easier back in Calgary where I grew up, so I thanked Uncle Wally for letting me stay at his house, then I hit the road and started hitchhiking my way back home. The entire time I was at my uncle’s house, I did not think about pot—not even once.

When I got back home, I moved back into my room downstairs in my parents’ home. The next day I asked my cousin Allan if they needed anybody at his work. The day after, Allan told me to go apply at his work for a job. So on the fourth day back at home, I went to the cement plant and applied for a job. On the fifth day, I got called in to the cement plant and got hired on as general help.

The next day, I started working at the cement plant and was making $12.63 per hour. Not bad for a sixteen-year-old with a grade nine education. This would equal $34.00 per hour at today’s wages. I woke up at 5:00 a.m. every day to be at work for 6:00 a.m. After about a month, my internal clock would wake me up five minutes before my alarm would go off.

I worked as hard for this boss as I did my last, except I would walk, not run, from task to task. To start my day I would have to open up the kilns at work. I would go into the kiln at 130 degrees Fahrenheit and would have to lay down over four hundred pounds of five-foot-by-eight-inch cement pipes without letting them hit the floor and break. It would take me until about 11:30 a.m. to lay down all the pipes and knock off the steel rings on the bottom of the pipes. This was real hard on my back but buffed up my arms and upper torso. Working in 130 degrees Fahrenheit, I had to take salt pills at lunch every day.

After working at the cement plant for eight months I had been doing the best job I could, as fast as I could. It’s just the way I am. One day at about 11:00 a.m., just after I finished laying down 400 eight-inch cement pipes in a kiln at over 130 degrees Fahrenheit, out of the blue my boss came up to me and said, “You’re working on the sewer pipes now. Midnight shift.” Then he gave my job to some new guy I had never seen before. I said, “I don’t want the midnight shift, give it to this new guy.” My boss just walked away, not even acknowledging what I had just said. So great! I was pissed off big time.

So the next night I show up for the midnight shift. One guy showed me how to pick up the thousand-pound cement sewer pipes with the fork lift, then drive slowly into the kiln and place the pipes in the kiln about three feet part. This guy handed me this flat ten-by-five inch tin tool with a handle, then he told me to use it to smooth the rough spots. This was the extent of training I received.

The guy that was doing this crap job must have quit. I felt I was unfairly put on this crap job, with the midnight shift to boot. I figure the boss was playing favorites because he could have put the new guy on this shift and job.

So with four minutes of training, I was expected to do this job and keep up with the fast pace they were making those sewer pipes. So, I put this first pipe in the kiln then grabbed a ten-foot ladder and a work light to see by because there were no lights in the kiln.

When I climbed the ladder on this first pipe, I found rough patches everywhere. The guy making the pipes did not have the mix right. It was too rough and it needed more water. I had to go and get a bucket of cement to fill the rough spots. It took me fifteen minutes to fix all the rough spots on the pipe. Then the guy who gave me my whole four minutes of training came in and started yelling at me to hurry up.

I was pissed off that I had to come here at midnight, because I could have been drinking and partying at night. Now this guy yelling at me, well, that just pissed me off even more.

He wanted me to hurry up, so that’s what I did. There was only enough time to pick up the sewer pipes and put them in the kiln, which left me no time to fix the rough spots on the pipes. I did this all shift. They can’t have their cake and eat it too.

The next day, I got called into the office. The big boss started to yell at me for leaving the rough edges. I told him about the four minutes of training and that the guy mixing the cement was not mixing the cement right. The boss put me on another job, but it was still on graveyard shift.

I did this other job night after night, but I hated working midnight until 8:00 a.m. I could not get very good sleep with the light coming in the windows and everybody up and walking around when I was downstairs.

After about two weeks, I’d had all I could take, so I told my boss where he could shove this job. My boss said, “You quit two weeks.” I said, “No, now.” My boss said, “Okay fine.”

This was a breaking point for me. I made my stand not to take any shit from anyone, from this point on. Not from my boss or anyone else. When I was at home, Andy stayed well clear of me because he knew what he’d get if he didn’t.

I felt in control of my life now. All the abuse I took growing up had made me into a very hard man. I was not going to take any shit from anyone. Period.

Still not being loved at home left me wanting to go elsewhere to find the love and acceptance that I needed so desperately.

I started going downtown to the same diner I used to go to when I cut class in grade nine. I found Gus still working there and still wanting to be my friend. I would go there to drink coffee and talk to Gus. We would talk about everything and anything, from my home life to more deep and intellectual conversations. I could confide in Gus about everything that was going on in my life, and Gus was there with good advice that I would use from time to time. Gus, being twelve years older than me, always had good advice if I needed or wanted it, but he never forced things onto me.

PART III: STREET FAMILY

Chapter 10: Sam and Lisa

Then one day about a month later, I was playing pinball and other games in the arcade right next to the diner. I decided to get in line to play foosball. While I was waiting, I watched a boy-and-girl team playing a two-guy game. They were super good. When I was next in line to play, I asked the guy behind me if he wanted to be my partner and he said yes, so we played the boy/girl team. Their names were Sam and Lisa. Sam and Lisa were great foosball players. They smoked me and my partner something like ten to two.

I saw something special in Sam, and it wasn’t just that he was a great foosball player. Sam was like me. He was confident, self-assured, and had a certain charisma about him, and that intrigued me. No one had ever intrigued me before.

After the match, I talked to Sam and Lisa. Right away, I liked them both, and they liked me. They befriended me and invited me to come and party with them. I accepted the invitation and went with them.

Sam’s friends, Ron and Rhonda, showed up to join us, so the five of us left to go and party for the rest of the night. We caught a cab and headed for a liquor store. Both Sam and myself had moustaches and looked over eighteen years of age, so I went into the liquor store with Sam and grabbed two flats beer. At the register, I offered to pay for one flat, but Sam refused and pulled out a wad of twenties and paid. Then we headed back to the cab and off to a motel to party the night away. Once again Sam paid.

We hit the room, cracked some beer, put on some music, and relaxed. Sam ordered pizza for everyone and paid yet again. Ron and Lisa rolled something to smoke and got high. We partied until three or four in the morning. I got to know each of them at least a little bit. All of us were the same age—sixteen, and they got to know me pretty well. When it was time to crash, we took one of the double beds apart so everybody had a bed to sleep on. I took the box spring to crash.

We all got up at 10:00 a.m. the next morning so everybody could shower before it was time to go. Sam and the group took a liking to me, and Sam invited me to hang with them all day. Once again I accepted the invitation and got to know everybody more and more.

Sam, Lisa, Ron, and Rhonda were all like me. They all came from homes where they were abused. It’s something you just come to know. Hey, we were all sixteen years old and nobody was looking for us, so that tells you a lot right there. The day flew by, as I was having a lot of fun. Day turned to night, and once again Sam and Lisa invited me to go and party the night away. I was having a great time so, yeah, I accepted the invite.

About 9:00 p.m. all of us got a cab, and me and Sam hit the liquor store for two more flats of Canadian. Then it was off to a motel to party the night away. We all got high and drank beer all night.

They all got to know me a bit better. Basically, I’m very open and honest, I have a lot of self-confidence, and I’m outgoing. I don’t do anything halfway. So either you like me, or you don’t like me. I have found if you don’t like me, chances are you bullshit a lot and don’t play well with others. I’m an alpha male, so go my way or get out of my way. Turned out Sam, Lisa, Ron, and Rhonda liked me a lot, and that was just fine with me because I liked them too. I wasn’t sure about Ron yet. He tended to bullshit a little too much. To me that means he’s hiding something. If you want me to like you, just be yourself and I’ll like you just fine.

I played caps with Lisa for at least three hours. It was easy to figure Lisa. She liked to get high and stay that way. That was her escape. She’d been abused and needed that escape to cope with the world. That was all good with me. We were going to get along just fine.

We all partied until three in the morning then crashed. Everybody had fun and a good time was had by all.

The next day, Sam invited me to hang with him and Lisa all day, and I accepted but said I had to go home to clean up and put on clean clothes and that I’d be back in two hours. He said where to meet him, and I did.

Sam played pool too, so we hit the pool hall and played snooker on six-by-twelve-foot tables. Sam was about as good as I was. We played all afternoon, and I seem to remember they served the best chili and toast I ever had.

Day turned to night, and when Ron and Rhonda showed up, we knew it was time to go and party for the night. As usual it was beer, motel, and party. Once again Sam paid for everything. We all partied, drank beer, and got high. Lisa and I got into another game of caps. After a couple of hours, Lisa took a break, so Ron tried his luck and sat down. I thought, “Here’s my chance to see how this little guy holds his beer.” We sat about ten feet apart and played. About two hours later, Ron conceded only to let Lisa sit back down. We all played until three in the morning.

I woke up about 9:00 a.m. Everyone was still sleeping, so I decided to have a quick shower and wait for the others to get up. I’d spent the last three and a half days straight with Sam and Lisa, with Ron and Rhonda joining us to party each night. I went outside for a smoke and to think about the last few days. It was hard to believe, but Sam and Lisa had accepted me almost as family. They had asked nothing of me in return but friendship. I would have done almost anything if they had asked me to. Sam was so much like me, it was uncanny. Sam’s communication skills were much better than mine, but my openness and honesty made up for that. For the second time in my life, I had been accepted for who I was. Not merely friends, but family. As long as Sam and Lisa treated me like this and wanted me around, I was going to help them just the way a brother would.

I went back in after my smoke; Lisa and Sam were awake now. After they showered, Sam invited me once again to spend the day with them, only this time he said it as if he has said it a hundred times and that he expected a yes in return. About 11:00 a.m., we all caught the bus headed for downtown. Sam wanted to play pool, so I was game for that. To tell you the truth, he could have suggested anything and I would have said yes. Every minute I’d spent with Sam and Lisa had been fun, so I expected the future to be the same, and it was. Three and a half days turns into seven days and eight nights, and I was considered one of the family now. Both Sam and Lisa were short and fairly thin, so I was the muscle in the family, and I would protect Sam, Lisa, Ron, and Rhonda to the death if I had to.

Being accepted unconditionally as one of the family was something I’d never experienced before, and it felt so good. It was like walking on air, and I was never going to get tired of that feeling. I was going to do everything I could to help Sam, Lisa, Ron, and Rhonda.

Sure, we didn’t have a home right now, but we had each other, and that was more important. With each day that passed, I got to know Sam and Lisa so much better. I found out Lisa was a Bic lighter thief. She would never admit it, so I had to keep an eye on my lighter. Sam was the easy-come, easy-go type, so I was going to help him when it came to the finances.

Living on the street is hard. Everybody has to do what they can do just to make it from day to day. As week by week goes by, you start to find out just how many kids from the age of eleven to the age of nineteen are living on the street. The shame is that it is better to live on the street than it is to go home to all the abuse—physical, emotional, psychological, and in the case of a lot of the girls, sexual abuse.

Almost all the girls living on the street who have suffered sexual abuse at home turn into hookers. They just learn early what men want and how much they will pay not just for sex but for sex with young girls. Everybody does what they have to so they can live day to day. When you have to spend fifty bucks a day for a motel room, plus food and booze or something else to get you high so you can forget the abuse each of us had suffered all of our childhoods, it adds up fast. Everybody living on the street has been abused growing up. Everybody that has suffered abuse growing up needs booze or something to get high to escape the feeling of being abused by their parents. That’s just the way it is.

As for all the guys living on the street, everybody did what they had to do so they would have enough money to make it through the day. That was as far ahead as anybody thought. Day by day, life on the street was a tough go. I use the word tough because that’s what you had to be to live on the street. If you weren’t tough, you just wouldn’t last, so get tough or get lost because the street would chew you up and spit you out.

You see, life was cheap and one of us might not have made it through the day. Some guy just might have lured you into one of the back alleys, then stabbed you for whatever you had on you, and that might be just your jacket. Like I said, you had to get tough fast. That wasn’t a problem for me.

Anyway, getting back to the guys living on the street and what they had to do to just live day-to-day on the street. Some guys did break and enter then sold the stuff they stole. Some guys mugged people for their money. But most of the guys living on the street would sell pot to get enough money to live day-to-day. You see, if you were a guy and you had long hair and were standing anywhere downtown in the one hundred block area, people would come up to you and ask you if you knew where they could buy some pot. Depending on which street you were standing, you could get asked this question as often as every ten minutes. That’s just the way it was in the city. There were so many people who wanted to buy pot and not enough people willing to supply the need, so most of the guys did this to make enough money to live on the street.

One night in the middle of a party, Sam, Lisa, Ron, and Rhonda all got a little serious for a minute and said to me, “James, you’re one of us now. You are one of the family now, and that’s for good, so get used to it.” Hey, that’s just what I wanted to hear. They were accepting me for who I was, and they never asked me for anything in return. Sam always paid for everything, no matter what, and he never asked me for a dime. I told them I’d felt like one of the family since the first week I had partied with all of them and that I was going to do everything I could to help them. They told me they were not worried about that.

“We know you will. We just wanted you to know you are one of us now and you always will be.”

The role I would play in my new family was the protector, the muscle. Starting with my first fight at twelve years of age, my path in life was pretty much set. If I didn’t like what some guy said or did, I would just beat the shit out of him. This was the case ever since I took on and beat my father. That’s where I made my stand. From that point on in my life, I was not going to take shit from anyone ever again.

With Sam and Ron no more than five foot five and a hundred pounds and Lisa and Rhonda no more than five foot six and a hundred ten pounds, it was clear that I would have to protect each of them. After all, I had built up a lot of arm muscle manhandling four-hundred-pound cement pipes for most of the past year. But the real key was that I was not afraid of anybody.

Sam never asked me to be the muscle in the family. It was just something I took on. As time went on, I got in more and more fights, and with each one I got tougher and rougher. I always went where Sam went. He was my brother now, and I was not going to let anyone hurt him or anybody else in the family. Hey, I’m six foot one and I can pick up over a hundred pounds with each arm.

It just so happened I was playing pinball one day when this cute girl came up to me and hit on me. I don’t know exactly why, but I picked her up with one hand and lifted her six feet off the ground. She was just a little surprised. I guess I made a good impression, because the next day she showed up with her best friend. So I picked up both of them and put one on each shoulder. It just seemed like the thing to do.

•   •   •

It had been almost four months now that I’d been with Sam, Lisa, and the others. Sam and the others could tell that no one messed with me. I’m not sure how many fights he’d seen me win, but with each passing month I got in more and more fights. It was all the abuse I suffered in my childhood. It made me a time bomb ready to explode. About all I ever learned from my father was if someone pissed me off, just beat the shit out of them, and that’s just what I did.

If someone ever said something against me, Sam, Lisa, Ron, or Rhonda, I would just snap and beat the shit out of whoever made the comment. Sometimes all it took was for some guy to look at me the wrong way and, if I was in the mood for a fight, well, let’s just say I would hit the guy so hard the guy would end up with something broken or with a cut needing stitches. If I hit him two or three times, his broken bones and cuts would multiply accordingly.

At least once every ten days, I would get in a fight in a bar or on the street or just about anywhere. I had this built up anger inside me from being physically and emotionally abused my entire childhood. I could not keep this anger bottled up inside me.

If I was in a fight and some guy managed, by some miracle, to punch me in the head, it would not hurt me at all. Instead, it would just enrage me even more, and then I would make sure the guy would end up on the ground with broken bones and in need of stitches.

The fights I got into were an emotional release for me—a way to get my anger out. It’s just the way it was, and nine out of ten times the guy deserved what he got. It wasn’t hard for me to ding some drunk asshole in a downtown bar in need of a tune up.

But when it came to the girls, I was as tender as I could be. I never really had a steady girlfriend, just a lot of hook-ups. That was just the way things were in the seventies.

When it came to Lisa and Rhonda getting into cat fights, I didn’t have to worry, as the girls could protect themselves. Besides, I would never hit a girl no matter what. If a guy hit a girl when I was around, well, let’s just say he would regret it. I made sure of that. I only ever was around twice when Andy hit my mom. The first time I was only nine years old, and next time I was fourteen years old and it took two of my uncles to keep me off him. You know what happened the last time he tried to hurt me, and he never touched my mom or sister or me ever again after that day.

Beating me all my childhood was not my dad trying to make me tough. Besides, the psychological and emotional abuse were much more damaging than the physical abuse. All that the abuse did was make me into a very hot-tempered young man. After all, the only things I had ever experienced were physical and emotional pain and suffering, loneliness, and abandonment. Not love or acceptance; not any positive reinforcement.

Sixteen years of being talked down to in a dismissive manner and tone of voice. My parents never even looked at me when they were talking to me, let alone any other time. Because of this, my ability to communicate with people had suffered a bit. But I was learning quickly.

The only thing that had given me a chance of having anything close to a normal life was my being so determined to do every single thing I did better than anybody else. I did everything and anything I could do just to please everyone in the hopes of being accepted as a friend.

Ever since I turned ten years of age, I stopped trying to learn from my parents. Instead I focused on learning what I could from my peers and elders. I would watch and listen to what people had to say and do, then I would emulate that, as long as I did not have to lie. That’s one thing I absolutely refused to do.

Believe it or not, telling the truth had caused me many problems in my life up to that point. It goes back to not having very good communication skills. I had to learn everything in life by trial and error. Not lying made me come across as a bit blunt at times. Thank God that he put a head on my two shoulders.

Today, people would say I’m frank, straightforward, open, and honest. As time went on, it was my wanting to please people and being open and honest and always being open to a good time that would get me through life.

Chapter 11: Important Lessons

I would stop in regularly at the diner for some breakfast and coffee, but mainly I would go to see Gus and see how everything was with him and his family. I talked to Gus about life and to see what advice he had for me, as Gus would help me by teaching me new things—things I never learned from my father.

One day we talked about God and what God can do for some people. We had already talked about my father and the evil that was in him and how it had affected me in my nightmares. This time, we talked a bit about the church Gus went to and how in the middle of services sometimes a person would stand up and speak in tongues.

Gus told me that when a child is born, that child is born innocent and that what a child is taught and the things that a child is exposed to can influence whether that child grows up with good or evil in them. He explained that a child exposed to violence, physical and emotional abuse, and negative situations sometimes can have evil tendencies.

He explained that when you see a baby from newborn to one or two years old, that baby has been exposed to almost no evil whatsoever, and thus the baby is still almost completely innocent. But as that child grows up and is exposed to more and more negative situations, those situations will affect the child in a negative or evil way.

For example, if a child is exposed to parents that yell and fight all the time, the child learns to yell and scream to get what he or she wants. For another example, if one child sees another child throw a tantrum to get his or her way, the other child might learn to do this.

But on the other hand, a baby growing into a child who is shown love, tenderness, and a calm and loving voice, a child who is taught how to act and how to speak in a positive and respectful manner, will grow up doing what they were taught.

What Gus told me made sense, and I could tell very clearly that what he said was the truth. So I learned this, and to this day I keep it in mind whenever I’m exposed to good or evil.

The bad thing is that, more and more, everybody in the whole world is exposed to more and more evil or negative situations, and that affects all of us. People pick up these things without even knowing it. Think about this when you come across situations like these.

If Gus had not told or taught me this, negative or evil things might have affected me more in my life.

We also talked about God and good and evil powers. Gus explained to me that God is real, and so is the devil. He told me that my nightmares about my father were evil and that no longer living at home would help decrease the number of nightmares that I would have. He told me that someone can get good or evil powers from God and the devil. He told me a small amount of good power can defeat a large amount of evil power.

Gus changed the subject to a lighter one before he overloaded me with too much of a serious and heavy subject. Somehow he knows just when he is about to overload me with too much of the serious and heavy topics, and that’s a good thing, because I was still a loose cannon. If someone pushed me too far, well, let’s just say I could snap and just beat someone very badly.

Chapter 12: The Sexual Revolution

It was February of 1978, and I was now seventeen. Growing up with my abusive scars and having to teach myself almost everything made me two things—tough and outgoing. Just being out from under my parents made me feel a thousand percent better about myself. I think I’d been in six fights in the past four months, so Sam, Lisa, and the gang were feeling very safe with me around.

During the day we would all hang out at either the arcade or the pool hall. One day this girl Colleen came up to me in the arcade and started talking to me. Well, we hit it off pretty good. Sam and Lisa wanted to go to a movie at 6:00 p.m., so I asked this girl Colleen if she wanted to go to the movie. Colleen and I went into the movie on a date and came out boyfriend and girlfriend.

After the movie we found Ron and Rhonda, and the six of us headed for the liquor store, then the motel. We all got high and drunk. About 2:00 a.m., we all decided to crash, so we took one of the double beds apart so everyone would have a place to sleep. When three couples have to sleep in one room, and one of them wants to make out and have sex, you just do it. The only privacy you are going to have are the sheets. Both Colleen and myself were pretty horny at this point, so without further ado, we started making out. No one turned the lights off, but I didn’t care and neither did Colleen. Colleen ducked her head under the covers and started giving me head. Well, you’d think Lisa, Sam, Ron, and Rhonda had never seen someone give head before. Something tells me that neither of those girls had ever done anything other than straight sex. That probably changed after that night.

The next morning, Colleen and I started the day with a good morning kiss, then I hit the showers as I always did. All fresh and clean, I got dressed and had a smoke outside with Colleen. Colleen made sure I had her phone number before she left to go to school. We kissed and planned to hook up in a couple of days.

Two days went by. It was now Friday night. I was playing a game in the arcade about 5:00 p.m. when Colleen showed up with a great big smile and energy to do whatever the night had in store for us. We played pinball and foosball for a couple of hours, then we found Sam, Lisa, and the gang. Soon it was off to the liquor store and a motel to party the night away.

We got to the motel about 8:00 p.m. with two cases of beer and some black hash that Sam bought for all of us to get high. The next thing I knew, Lisa had the hot knives out and someone cut the bottom off a two litre Coke bottle so that none of the smoke went to waste. Well, an hour later everybody was pretty high and starting to get drunk. I started a game of caps with Lisa. Sam and Ron just keep on taking hits off the knives every five minutes. For me, once or twice is enough, thanks. We all partied until three in the morning before we hit the sack. With just the light coming off the TV, Colleen and I made love. We both could have cared less if anyone watched or not. Hey, when we all live in the same room every night, eventually everybody is going to see everybody else naked. I was never shy. Colleen spent the whole weekend with me and we had a great time getting to know each other. On Sunday, she gave me her address and instructions on how to get to her place. By Tuesday, I had to go and see her. Early Tuesday morning I knocked on her back door. She was just a little surprised to see me, but her mom wasn’t home so I came in and she showed me her bedroom, and I showed her a real good time, if you know what I mean. I just learned early in life where to touch a girl and where to kiss a girl for maximum effect, you know.

Making love to Colleen that Tuesday morning was great. Everywhere I touched her and kissed her sent her body reeling with climax after climax. I turned her body into a bucking bronco.

After I got dressed and Colleen had a shower, we relaxed in the living room. I remember Colleen’s little thirteen-year-old sister just sat there staring at me and never took her eyes off me the whole time I was at the house. I hung around until it was time for Colleen to head to school, then I headed to my parents place to shower, shave, and put some clean clothes on. Later I headed downtown to meet up with Sam and Lisa.

It was Saturday morning and Sam had bought some acid from some guy and gave everyone a hit to try. I went along with everyone and tried some. I should never have taken that hit. It was not good acid, and I got a really bad high from it.

Well, it just so happened that being high on this shit acid made me not want anyone to touch me. When Colleen and her younger sister came downtown looking for me, she kept grabbing my hand and wanting to hold it. I tried to explain to Colleen about this bad trip I was on and that I didn’t want to hold hands, not now at least. For some reason she just didn’t get the message and continued to grab and hold my hand. Over and over I explained to her about the bad acid trip I was on and about not holding my hand. For some reason she just didn’t get the message through her head. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. Anyway, she left crying and I never saw her again. Too bad. We had really hit it off good. Turned out to be the worst Saturday of my young life.

•   •   •

It was March now, and the weather was getting nice. With the nice weather a lot more people were going out and that meant a lot more people were coming downtown.

Every now and then Sam would run into some guy selling some harder drugs. When he did, he would buy some for everybody to try. We had one rule—never heroine—but everything else was okay to try at least once. The thing was, living in a small city meant there never was much of anything coming through, so there was never enough for anyone to get hooked on.

Every night we got a motel room to party and sleep, but I was starting to not like it, so I decided to get a job as a laborer with one of the construction companies in town. The pay was good, and I liked doing the muscle work to build up my arms. I still partied with Sam, Lisa, Ron, and Rhonda every night. I never got hangovers, so I would work and play hard, day after day.

After two weeks, I got my first paycheck, so I found a nice basement suite with three bedrooms, and it was furnished to boot. Everybody liked it a lot and thanked me for doing this. It was just my way of helping out. Besides, I needed more to do than just hang out all day, every day.

Two weeks later I got a full paycheck, so I bought a car for three hundred dollars and got PLPD insurance for it. So now we had a place and wheels to get around. Lisa would ask me to drive her for groceries, and we were all very happy to now have some home cooking.

Going to work every day was the structure I needed in my life. I worked hard all day and partied hard at night. Getting a big paycheck every two weeks allowed me to pay the rent, so we had a place to sleep every night and it added some structure to all our lives. Even though I paid the rent every month, it never crossed my mind that it was my money. It’s just the way I am, and I didn’t care about money, and it felt good to do this so we all had a roof over all our heads. Each one of us did something that helped one another. Lisa and Rhonda would cook and do the laundry for everyone. Sam would buy the beer and have enough pot for everyone every night.

The one exception was Ron. He would just take and not do or buy anything for the rest of us. Ron was a talker. He would con everyone, not just us but everyone he ran into on the street. That’s just the way Ron was—all take and no give. Like every night, him and Rhonda would show up ready to party all night with the beer, pot, and food that Sam and I had bought.

Working a labor-intensive job helped me get a lot bigger and stronger day by day. At home, I had a weight lifting bar with seventy-five pounds of dumbbells on it, and every night I would curl it 150 times nonstop and wouldn’t even be out of breath when I was done.

Being abused by my father all my childhood made me tough. I worked out and put on a lot of muscle so that I would never take a beating ever again in my life. I would get in a fight at least once a week. It was easy to find someone that needed to be taken down a notch or that was looking for a fight. There was this one bar downtown, and every night there was blood spilled outside on the sidewalk. I could always find some guy drunk and looking for a fight there.

I had a lot of built-up anger from being physically and emotionally abused my entire childhood. I needed an outlet for all that built-up anger, and only getting in a fight would release that anger. I feel sorry now for some of the guys. But I never got into a fight with a small guy. I made sure they all were bigger and outweighed me by at least thirty pounds.

•   •   •

I had an aura about me that attracted certain people. I’m not sure when it started, maybe when I was thirteen. I was always open and honest, and I always tried to please people. I was always positive about everything and I tried my best at everything I did. Like if I was cleaning my room, I would do more than vacuum and dust, I would organize all the things in my room, too.

If I made love to a girl. I would try to make love to her better than anybody else had. Everything I did was to make her experience better, and I would not worry about myself. I figured the more she climaxed, the more I would too, and it worked so well. I almost never had a steady girlfriend. I would always play the field and the more girls I made love to the more I learned. The more I learned, the more the girls had a great experience. The only steady girlfriend I had from the time I was thirteen to twenty-one years of age was Colleen, and that was only for a short time. Too bad; I really liked her. I would always stay friends with the girls, and so every now and then I would go on dates with some of the girls.

I’m not sure when it started, somewhere between fourteen and fifteen years of age, but I could talk with my eyes. I really wore my emotions on my sleeve. I could never tell a lie. If I did, it would show on my face like a stop sign. That was part of being able to talk with my eyes. I think that’s what attracted the girls a lot. That and being not bad-looking got me laid a lot. And I would always try to be friends first. Doing that attracted the girls even more.

Having the ability to talk with my eyes attracted certain people to me. It was no ESP, but it was something along that line. I could project what I wanted to say with just a look. I remember I was at a party when I was seventeen, and there was this girl about fourteen feet away from me. I wanted to say I found her attractive, so I just looked at her, and within a few seconds she looked at me. Anyway, she freaked out a little bit and told all her friends loudly, like an announcement, “He talks with his eyes.”

I was lucky when it came to girls. First of all, the prettiest girls always came up to me and hit on me. Second, all the girls found me good-looking and would say, “Don’t you love his hair?” They all liked how strong I was.

All the girls also liked me because I had a lot of self-confidence and was very outgoing and just a very positive guy. I wasn’t afraid to talk about my feelings or any subject at all. I always told the truth. I was just very open and honest with everyone, not just the girls. Everyone found this to be very appealing about me, especially the girls. I was different than most of the other guys that the girls had experienced. Most guys would bullshit to try to impress the girls, but not me. Some girls were attracted to the bad boy in me. Some just wanted to sleep with me, and that was okay too. After all, it was the late seventies and a sexual revolution was going on. There were a lot of one-night stands. I kept my mind open to a relationship, but in those days almost all the girls were looking for a one-night stand and wanted to just go back to our separate lives the next morning.

The girls liked me for a number of things. I was good-looking and strong, a bad boy with feathered, shoulder-length hair and my jeans and my tan leather bomber jacket. I had a few scars that made me look tough, as well as a very confident and outgoing manner. I had a good aura about me that the girls liked a lot. Not having a steady girlfriend and it being the late 1970s meant I hooked up with a lot of girls for one night of partying and making love.

I always took pride in being the best lover that I could be, making sure that the girl I was with had the very best sexual experience of her young life. Doing this ever since I was sixteen years old until now gave me a very, very good reputation among the girls that came downtown. Often one girl would tell her best friend about her experience, then her friend would come the next night to party with me.

Chapter 13: Diamonds

It was November 1978, and it was starting to get cold outside. The jobs I’d been doing had me outside almost all of the time, so I quit. I still had my car and the apartment suite for all of us to live in, only now Sam was going to have to come up with the rent money for the apartment and the gas money for the car.

The apartment only lasted for November and December, but that was okay. One day, Lisa and Rhonda were walking down this one street pretty close to downtown. This street had a bunch of older style houses on it, and it just so happened that one of these older houses was boarded up with no one living there, so Lisa and Rhonda broke into a basement window. It was clean inside with two beds in the basement. Lisa and Rhonda came and told Sam, Ron, and me about the house.

When it got dark that night, we all went to that house to party and sleep. The house still had electricity and heat to keep the pipes from freezing, so we stayed downstairs so no one would know we were there. We weren’t hurting anyone by staying there, and we made sure not to make a mess and kept the place the same as we found it.

It was about a week later that Sam got busted for selling pot and had to go to jail for three months. After a couple of days, Lisa got a little lonely, so she invited me to come and sleep with her in her bed, and I accepted.

•   •   •

It had been two months since we had been living in this boarded up house. Hey, at least we kept warm. After all, it was winter.

Sam had just got out of jail. We all were happy to see him, so that night we threw him a big party to celebrate. The first thing Sam wanted was to smoke a joint and get high then drink beer all night. So that’s what we did all night—smoked pot and drank beer.

Lisa and I never told Sam about us sleeping together, but it wouldn’t have made a difference either way, because I never had sex with Lisa. I had, and still have to this day, honor. I would never sleep with Lisa as long as she was still Sam’s girlfriend. You see, even when I was living on the street, I still had my morals and standards. I never told a lie or tried to rip someone off.

But this didn’t stop my girlfriend, Amy, from sleeping with other guys. Well, she wasn’t really my girlfriend—just a one-night stand—so I never cared who she had sex with. She wasn’t too bright, though. She hooked up with this guy that wasn’t too bright either. Amy came up with this idea to rob her old boss who managed a cinema. I told her I wanted nothing to do with it, so she talked this other guy into it. So their big plan was to wait for her old boss in the parking lot, and when he showed up, to hit him over the head and steal the money he was taking to the bank. I told her she was crazy, but she wouldn’t listen to me. The next day they did the robbery. They came downtown to show off all the money they ripped off, and then we never saw her again.

I can guarantee you she got busted for it. It was armed robbery with assault, and I’m sure the manager recognized her from work and still had her application on file. He would have told the cops exactly who it was that had robbed him, and she would have got some serious jail time for a crime like that for sure.

Well, we were all still living in this boarded up house, at least to party and sleep in. We met some new guys and the one guy’s girlfriend. They were pretty cool and they were from two thousand miles away.

On the fourth of that month it was my birthday, so everybody threw me a big party, and one of the guys from down in the big city joined the party. First we hit a liquor store for beer, then we got a hotel room and started to party. The one guy from out of town had some pure THC, so everybody did a match head of the stuff. Because it was my eighteenth birthday, this guy cut me a good eighth of a gram line to snort. I just said, “Wow, that’s all for me?” and the guy said, “Yup,” so I thanked him and did the line.

Pure THC is a power trip drug that makes you feel very confident, so as the party went on everybody was getting high on this drug. There were three girls and one guy lying on two beds, and I was so high I lay down beside one of the girls. My body started to vibrate, and it felt like I was floating about one inch off the bed. Then I put my two hands together and a laser started shooting out of my hands. It was at this time someone asked me what I was doing, so I told them I was shooting lasers out of my two hands, and after I said that, everybody in the room, also high on THC, said they could see the lasers coming out of my hands too.

This went on for about a half hour or so. We partied all night. After my high was over and I was coming down, I felt really drunk. This was a side effect of the drug. I ended up in the drunk tank until they let us out at about daylight. That was my eighteenth birthday.

•   •   •

Well, it was spring time in the city. We stopped partying and sleeping in the boarded-up house. The weather had been super nice, and more and more people were coming downtown to score their pot or whatever.

Lisa found this super nice leather jacket in a used clothing store, so she bought it for me, sort of a late birthday present. When I tried it on, it just fit like a glove. Every crease or wrinkle of the yellowish-brown jacket with an overlaid V design on the back fit just where it should have, like I had been wearing it for the past five years. Even the length of the jacket hit my belt line and the sleeves barely touched the back of my hands. I could not have been more happy. I thanked Lisa so much for getting it for me. I would end up wearing that jacket until I wore through the leather at the bottom of the sleeves when I was twenty-three years old. I would have it still, except it was stolen out of the backseat of my ’70 Camaro LT in 1984.

I was just enjoying a sunny April morning and the fresh air when this guy came up to me. This guy had three diamond rings that he was looking to trade for something I had. I thought it was a great deal so I said sure. I took the rings and hung them around my neck with the chain that came with the rings. I figured I had made over a thousand dollars on the deal.

I was just standing outside the arcade one day when this cop named Burt came up to me and said, “Hi, James. Where did you get those diamond rings?” We kids living on the street knew most of the cops that worked downtown by their first name, and we all used that. I, being honest, said, “I traded some guy for them.” Burt told me to take them off so he could see them, which he had no legal right to do, but I let him see the rings. Turns out they all had serial numbers on them. Burt radioed in to check out if the rings were stolen, and as it turns out they were, so Burt arrested me for possession of stolen property.

So when I got to the police station, I called my lawyer and informed him of the situation. He told me to sit tight and said, “I’ll have you out this afternoon.” My lawyer, true to his word, got the matter seen by a sitting judge and had me out in less than three hours. He had the matter set for hearing three weeks later. I put my arm around my lawyer and thanked him for being the best lawyer I had ever seen.

“Don’t sweat it, James. I can take care of this. Just show up at the hearing date.”

“No problem,” I replied.

So three weeks went by quickly, and I headed for the courthouse. In the common area outside the courtrooms, I waited for my lawyer. About twenty minutes before my hearing, my lawyer showed up. I was a little nervous, not knowing if I was going to have to do time. My lawyer assured me that he had this covered.

We went into the courtroom. Waiting in the back row were Burt and three other cops—just waiting to see me go to jail. For two years they all had been trying to bust me for anything they could but had never been able to even charge me up until now.

So my lawyer went up to the prosecutor and told him that these rings were stolen six months ago and two thousand miles from here! The jeweler had already received his money from the insurance, so he did not want the rings back. Now, if we went to trial, that jeweler was going to have to fly out here and rent a room, all out of his own pocket. And if he got his rings back, he was going to have to give the insurance money back. So my lawyer said, “Do you want to throw this out or waste the court’s time and money?” The prosecutor agreed to throw it out.

The judge came in, called for order, and we all rose to show respect for the court. My case was first up, and the prosecutor said, “We dismiss the charges, Your Honor.” The judge conferred with my lawyer then said, “Charges dismissed. Next matter!”

My lawyer and I walked out of that courtroom with my arm around him. Then I looked at the long faces of those four cops who had been trying to bust me for two years. When we got outside the courtroom, my lawyer told me how he did it, then he told me I could pick up my rings at the police station tomorrow. I thanked him a lot. The following day I picked up my rings and hung them around my neck.

Later that day, one of those four cops came up to me and said,

“You know, if I didn’t know this case, I could bust you all over again because those rings are still on the hot sheet.”

“Yeah, but you can’t and you never will bust me, because I’m a lot smarter than you ever will be, so why don’t you f—k off and get out of my face, Ernie.”

PART IV: REBIRTH

Chapter 14: Powers

In the last week of June, I went to see my friend Gus at the diner downtown. We got caught up on everything that had happened since we last saw each other.

After getting caught up, I asked Gus to tell me more about God. Gus told me that if you pray to God, God can give you good powers.

“What kind of powers?” I asked.

“Try and have a staring contest with me,” Gus said.

So I did. I could only stare into Gus’s eyes for like two seconds. Staring at Gus was impossible. His eyes would spin in a circle, and coming out of his eyes was a power. It was like cutting up really strong onions. Gus got this power from praying to God, and Gus explained to me that if I prayed to God, that God could give me one or more of many different powers.

I asked Gus if God could take away the frightening nightmares of my dad’s angry head coming at me. Gus explained that God could do that and many, many more different things with his good powers.

Gus explained to me that you only need a small amount of good power to defeat a large amount of evil power. I thought to myself, “It would be great to never have that nightmare ever again.”

Gus said to me that God can give people any number of good powers. He told me that almost everyone uses a cross to represent Christianity, and that was good. Gus explained that a halo is the true symbol for God. He explained that a halo is what was above Jesus’s head, and that a halo is a perfect circle. It has no beginning and no end, just as God has no beginning and no end. A halo is pure white to represent that God is good power and black represents evil power.

I wonder if when Jesus was alive here on earth people could see a halo above his head. Maybe his apostles could see the halo above his head. Someone must have seen it, because in so many paintings and stained glass windows there is a halo above Jesus’s head.

It was such a good thing to have even a small chance of never having that nightmare, ever again.

Chapter 15: Falling in Love

One day in June 1980, a bunch of us were partying one night when we met this guy named Stoney. He was selling something special, so Sam bought some for all of us to do that night.

With Stoney was a girl named Sandy. She was very pretty, and I could see she had a lot of class. She was dressed well, with her hair done up and makeup and perfume—she shone with class.

I was very attracted to Sandy right from the start, so I went over to talk to her and we hit it off right away. We talked for like half an hour, and it was like we were best friends for years. Then she had to leave with this Stoney guy. I let her know that I wanted to see her again, and she said she felt the same way. There was just one thing wrong—she was dating this Stoney guy. But without words we both felt something special, and we knew we would see each other sometime soon. We said our goodbyes and she left.

The next day she came downtown and we met up again. We talked for an hour or more. I was infatuated with her. I think I was starting to fall in love with her, and we hadn’t even made love yet. We just connected with each other. We talked nonstop just like at the party—like we were best friends. This time she gave me her phone number and address so I could call her and come and visit her at her house. She lived with her parents.

I called Sandy the next week and went over one morning to visit. When I got there, Sandy was still in her housecoat. She offered me some tea, and then we sat on the deck in the backyard enjoying the morning sunshine. We talked for an hour or so. No matter what we talked about, the conversation flowed from subject to subject without a moment of dead silence or a feeling of awkwardness.

I would come and visit with Sandy two or three times a week, unless Sam needed me downtown for something. If I didn’t call or come visit Sandy in five days or so, Sandy would come downtown to find me. It wasn’t like there were cell phones at that time.

The next week, I got an apartment close to where Sandy lived with her parents. After two weeks, I would go over to have tea and see Sandy every morning. Sometimes Sandy would come over to my apartment to visit with me.

One night, Sandy showed up at my apartment. We both did some coke that I got from a guy that came from about two thousand miles down east. The coke was about 30 percent pure and made me and Sandy very high. So high that we both cuddled on the couch in my apartment for over four hours and talked pillow talk the whole time. But Sandy was still Stoney’s girlfriend, and that meant hands off to me. No matter how in love I was with Sandy.

•   •   •

Gus had to travel by plane to a city and asked me to come along as muscle just in case someone tried to rip him off. I said I would do it for five hundred bucks. Gus said okay, and two days later, we headed to the airport to leave.

Gus did his business and then we flew back to town. I went home and Gus took his pot back to his house. The next day Gus brought four pounds of pot over to my place.

I decided to go see Sam, Lisa, Ron, and Rhonda since Sam owed me eight hundred dollars. When I arrived, I found them all living high on the hog. The fridge was full of food and beer, the rent was paid, and there were lots of drugs to be had. To top it off, Sam didn’t have money to give me, so I left and went home.

That night, the police came to my apartment building and rang my buzzer.

“Hello, who is it?”

“The police.”

“What do you want?”

“We just want to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“There have been some break-ins in this area. Buzz us in so we can talk to you.”

“You can talk to me now.”

“We need to talk to you face-to-face. Please buzz us in.”

I panicked because I had smoked a joint just half an hour earlier. I thought for a second and decided I’d let them in the building but not into my apartment. When they knocked on my door, I went to open the door only three or four inches, but as soon as the door opened the cops pushed their way through the door. One cop got right into my face, asking me questions, while the other cop searched the apartment. He found a small bag of pot and some scales. This made him look even harder.

It was obvious someone had ratted me out, because these cops were looking for the four pounds that Gus had brought over earlier that day. Because I was high, I did not have my wits about me and did not realize that this was an illegal search and seizure. Ron and Sam were almost for sure the ones that had ratted me out. With me in jail, Sam would not have to pay me the money that he owed me.

After the cops searched the apartment for about half an hour, they finally found the four pounds of pot I had hidden beneath the bathroom floor.

The two cops arrested me for possession with the purpose of selling. I was processed at police headquarters and formally charged. I then called my lawyer to meet me in court the next morning to see if he could get me out on bail.

At 10:00 a.m. the next day, the guards took me from the remand holding cells down to the courts on the main floor. When me and my lawyer went before the judge, the judge was quick to deny me bail and remand me to the holding cells on the second floor of the jailhouse.

So now I was stuck in jail until my trial. The last thing my lawyer said to me was, “If they pushed their way in to your apartment, I can get you off for an illegal search and seizure.” For some reason, I never told my lawyer that they had pushed their way in and that I had never invited them in.

I thought to myself that it was time for me to pay for what I had done. It was time for me to take responsibility for the crimes I’d done.

They put me in a dorm cell with eleven other guys. I got settled in on one of the top bunks and then made friends with one of the other guys in the dorm. I had to accept the fact that I was going to be in jail for at least a month, maybe longer, and that was just while I was waiting for trial.

After two days of being clean and sober, I got thinking with a very clear head. I thought that if I kept going with the lifestyle I had been living these past two years, it would only lead to more jail time in the future.

I decided to change the way I was living. After I got out of jail I was not going to go back to living on the street, and I was not going to break any more laws. I had no idea how long I was going to be in jail, but I was going to make the best of it.

I got along great with my new friend in the dorm. We would play cards or a game of chess each day. Mostly we worked out doing push-ups and weight lifting for at least three or four hours a day. There’s not much else you can do in jail, and I wanted to stay in shape and continue to build up the muscles in my arms and upper body. It’s a lot easier to do when you have a friend to work out with.

That night after falling asleep, I had a nightmare. It was the same nightmare that I’d been having ever since I was six years old. Everything is black. Out of the darkness, in the distance, I see his face. His angry face. Suddenly, it starts coming at me, wanting to hurt me. The closer it gets, the bigger it gets, faster and faster until it is almost touching my face and I can no longer breathe and I wake up.

I sat up in my bunk until I calmed down enough to go back to sleep. The next day I remembered what Gus had told me about God giving some people good powers.

Chapter 16: Turning to God for Help

That night when I went to bed I decided to start praying to God. I was going to pray to God and ask him for the power to do good things in this world.

I got into bed and lay down and decided to pray to God in the most sincere way possible. I prayed to God with all my soul, with all my mind, with all my heart, and with every ounce of my being. This was my prayer: “God, please give me the power to do good. God, please give me the power to do good.” I was more sincere in my prayer than I had ever been before in my whole life.

The next night, I prayed once again with all my soul, with all my mind, with all my heart, and with every ounce of my being. I prayed, “God, please give me the power to do good. God, please give me the power to do good.”

You see, I was asking and pleading with God to change me on the inside, to cleanse my soul and undo all the damage that had been done in my childhood—the damage from all the physical, emotional, and psychological abuse. To change me so I will not get into two fights a week, so I would be a nice, honorable person wanting to do good things in life.

The third night came and I prayed to God with all my soul, with all my mind, with all my heart, and with every ounce of my being. I prayed, “God, please give me the power to do good. God, please give me the power to do good.”

Then I went to sleep and had the same nightmare of my father’s angry, evil head coming at me to hurt me. As usual, I got so scared when my father’s face was just a few inches away from mine; I woke up and sat up in bed.

The fourth night I prayed the same way, with so much sincerity. No one on earth could have been more sincere. “God, please give me the power to do good. God, please give me the power to do good.”

Not only was I praying to God, but I was the spitting image of a model prisoner. Every day I woke up at 7:00 a.m., made my bed, and waited for breakfast to be served. I did everything that was expected of me, on time and to the best of my ability, and got along with everyone in my cell dorm.

I was really trying to change my ways. I did not want to be the rough and tough guy that I had grown up to be, I really wanted to change.

On the fifth night I prayed. The sixth night I prayed. Night after night, I prayed to God with all my soul, with all my mind, with all my heart, and with every ounce of my being. I prayed, “God, please give me the power to do good. God, please give me the power to do good.”

Each and every night I prayed. After over thirty days and nights of praying, I had a very special dream: I find myself in a married couple’s home. I am with the woman in the living room on the main floor of their home. The man is in another room getting ready to go out for a night on the town with his wife.

Just then I woke up and sat up in my bed. I was still in jail, but I could see outside, as one wall was totally made of glass. So I was fully awake and took note of my surroundings, then I lay back down and fell fast asleep. I start to dream again. Not a different dream but the same dream that I had been having. The dream did not start from the beginning. It picked up right where it left off.

I’m standing with the woman in her living room. To the right of us is the staircase going up the wall to the second level of the house. We start to walk up the stairs, and when we reached the top of the stairs, I woke up for the second time.

I sat up in my bed on the third floor of the remand jailhouse. Sitting in my bed, I could see it was still dark outside. I looked around. I was still in my bed and all the other prisoners were asleep in their respective beds. I lay back down and fell fast asleep, and as soon as I did the dream started up again, right where it left off.

Myself and the woman are standing at the top of the stairs, and there is a boy about ten to twelve years of age standing there in the hall with four closed bedroom doors around him.

Then I woke up for the third time. Once again I sat up in my bed in jail. I looked outside. It was pitch black. As I looked around, I saw everybody was sleeping, so I lay back down, and as my head hit the pillow, I fell fast asleep. As soon as I did, this special dream started once again, exactly where it had left off.

Myself, the woman, and now her young son were all standing on the second floor of this house. It was at this time I figured out that I was there to babysit this boy, as his mother and father were going out, but this was a smoke screen to hide the real reason. So we’re standing there, and the mother has the boy’s pajamas in her hands.

Then I woke up for the fourth time. I sat up in my bed and looked around. I was still in jail and everybody was still sleeping. It was still pitch black outside, so I lay back down and fell fast asleep once more. As before, the dream picked up exactly where it had left off.

It was at this time the mother started to put the pajamas on the boy. First the pants, then the boy lifted his arms above his head so his mother could pull the pajama top over the boy’s head. While the boy’s arms were over his head, I saw there was a two-by-two inch opening in the boy’s side with circuit boards and wires showing. At that exact moment, I knew the robot was evil, pure evil.

All of a sudden the mother was gone, and I knew I had to take this wicked robot boy and get rid of this evil. I grabbed the robot boy and threw him out the window. He landed in the tree next to the house. A hateful laugh came out of the boy and he said, “Throw me into the next tree, and I’ll be even stronger!”

And then I woke up, sat up in my bed, and realized it was morning. It was bright outside, but everyone was still sleeping, so I lay back down and fell fast asleep. The dream was over and did not start up again. About an hour later, the buzzer went off in the jail to wake everyone up.

The minute I woke up, I knew that God had come to me in the dream. God had changed me. When I threw the damnable robot out the window, that was God taking all the evil out of me and giving me a second chance at life. He undid all the damage that was done to me from my abusive childhood. God took away all the hurt feelings I had suffered. God took away all the evil and bad things I was taught. God cleansed my soul and spirit. I was now reborn, innocent like a newborn baby.

I was now a new person. I felt so good and free with not a care in the world. I was now a really nice and honest person, no longer wanting to get into fights or do anything illegal, bad, or not right. I wanted to make friends and wanted to help people. This was just the start of what it means to be reborn or cleansed by God. I now showed love and friendship to everyone I met, and I now loved God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit.

•   •   •

Two days later my lawyer came to tell me that we were going to trial the next day. For the second time, my lawyer asked me if the police had busted in. I knew that the police had pushed their way in and searched illegally, but I did not say anything to my lawyer.

Something inside me told me to stay silent, that I had to pay for my law breaking. The next day, I went to court for my trial. They placed me in the accused stand. I saw my lawyer at the defendant’s table. The judge asked the prosecutor to present his case, but the prosecutor was not ready for trial and asked for a continuance. The judge looked at my lawyer for a response. My lawyer said, “Your Honor, we’re ready. I demand my client be released on his own recognizance.” The judge agreed and ordered I be released. The judge then asked for a new trial date and a date was set for ten months later. My lawyer came over to me and said, “You’re free for a while.” They returned me to my dorm and prepared to release me that afternoon. When I got out of jail, I went straight home to my mom and sister. I was reborn, with a new outlook on life. I now loved God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, and all the angels. I also loved everyone on earth—regardless of sex, race, or creed, rich or poor. Now, money did not matter to me at all. A man with billions of dollars did not impress me.

Chapter 17: Working Hard

Right after I got released on bail, I moved back home. I was now a lot nicer to be around, and I wanted to help everyone I met. When I came home, I realized Mom was sleeping in a separate bedroom from my father. My father did not say one word to anybody in the family. He would come home from work, go downstairs, and watch TV until he heard someone say supper was ready. He would come upstairs, fix himself a plate of supper, and go back downstairs and watch TV until he went to bed at about 9:00 p.m. My mom still made his lunch and left it in the fridge for him. She also did his laundry for him. Can you imagine how a family would ever function this way? My mother, me, and my sister living together as a family, and our father living in the house with us but not talking to anyone or looking at anyone or even caring at all about any of his family anymore. This seemed even worse than a stranger living with us. We avoided even talking about him because it would bring up such hurt feelings. This had to be the worst dysfunctional family in the world. Coming home to this reminded me of why I moved out at the age of sixteen.

Mom was happy to see me and so was my sister Trudy. That afternoon, me and Trudy caught up on the past two years. I told Trudy about living on the street and how hard it was having to support five people and protect them from bikers, rip-off artists, gangs, drug addicts, and drunks in the bars. I explained how I had to fight about two or three guys per week. Our street family had only the clothes on our backs. Everyone ate at Mr. Submarine or some other fast food place. We tried to make enough during the day to pay for a hotel or motel room each night, and some beer, smokes, and tokes to party each night. Then we would wake up to check out by eleven each morning, and do it all over again the next day.

I got a job working at a very large gas station and convenience store. There I met a guy named Jim who was the same age as me. The two of us became fast friends. I worked full time and I worked very hard every minute of every hour of every shift. After two months, I got promoted to shift supervisor, then Jim and I got an apartment together. It was now December and cold outside. We went skiing lots, and when not skiing, we would go and shoot pool.

Every day at work, a lunch truck would come around with a good-looking woman in her twenties as owner-operator. Every day, I would get a cup of tea and pay the lady fifty cents for that tea. Then when I tried to pay about a week later, she said, “That’s okay, it’s on me.” Every day I would try to pay for the tea, and every day she would say, “It’s okay, it’s on me.”

This happened each and every day for months. Even though this coffee-truck girl kept giving me free cups of tea, I loved everyone the same. When God made me reborn, I loved God Almighty with all my heart. I loved every person as I loved myself. I did not care about monetary things. I never tried to impress anyone. I did not hate anyone or anything, and I treated everyone with respect. I did not look at girls and just think about sex. I would just try to be their friend. So, I never took the free cups of tea as a big come on. I kept offering to pay for each cup. Then one day in February, she came to the Mohawk when it was my day off. Maybe she came on purpose, as on that day she told a few people, “Tell James that I love him.” When I went in to work, my friend Jim told me what she had said. From that day forward, the coffee truck that she owned never came back to the gas station where I worked. I would have gone out with her if she had come back, but she never did. After God made me reborn, he changed my sexual drive and added a genuine love for everyone on earth (not a sexual love, but a love of caring for my fellow man or woman). Not seeing that the woman was coming onto me, the coffee-truck woman could have just said to me, “I like you, would you like to go out with me?” And then I would have said yes. But she was too in love with me to tell me.

Jim and I started to play lots of pool at this local pool hall, and every time we would play there were these five young girls that would all grab chairs and line them up next to the wall where we were playing. I would lean against the pool table and talk to these girls when it was not my shot. Very soon all these girls liked me so much that I could see that at least four of them wanted to be my girlfriend. After about three weeks, one of the girls took me aside and asked me if she should date a boy at school. I told her to go for it. Later I found out that she was just trying to see if I liked her. I did like her, but I was hurt that she had tried to trick me that way, because I always was honest with people. One of the other girls that was in love with me saw I was hurting and stayed close to me all night hoping to comfort me and show me that she loved me. I saw this and we became boyfriend and girlfriend.

Chapter 18: The Jaywalker

There was this cop named Ernie who hated me. Ernie was mad that he never could catch me doing any crime. So after I got released on bail, this cop named Ernie decided to get back at me in an evil way. Ernie left his ID at home and went in plain clothes to a small town about sixty miles away. He parked his car and went to the main street in the town, then, when he saw an RCMP police car was coming down the street, he jaywalked right in front of the RCMP police car. The police stopped and asked Ernie his name. Ernie gave them my name and birth date, but he gave them his own address. The RCMP wrote a jaywalking ticket and gave it to Ernie. Ernie took the ticket and drove back to the big city. Then Ernie waited to get the summons in the mail for not paying the ticket. He waited until after the court date then checked every week to see if a warrant had been issued for me to be arrested. When a warrant had been issued, this evil cop waited until Christmas Day and made sure he was scheduled to work. He came to my work to arrest me for this warrant, which was an RCMP warrant, not a city police warrant.

So Ernie showed up at my work and told me there was a warrant for my arrest for jaywalking in this small town. I told this Ernie cop that I had never been to this small town, ever, and that he would have to wait until my shift was over because I had to cash out and put the money in the safe. Ernie waited over thirty minutes for me to finish my shift and cash out.

I went with him and the young female officer that was with him. All the way driving up to the RCMP station in the far north of the city, I called Ernie an asshole and other names and told him I knew just what he had done to frame me for this jaywalking ticket. The drive took more than thirty minutes, and I yelled at Ernie all the way. Ernie and the young female officer never said one word in reply to my yelling because they knew I was in the right. I also told the female officer that Ernie did this because he wasn’t smart enough to catch me ever doing a crime.

In February of 1981 it was time for me to go to trial for the possession of the four pounds of pot.

I had worked very hard at the gas station for the nine months since I had got out of jail. After the first two months I had been promoted to supervisor, and I had impressed my boss a lot over the last nine months. I went to my boss one week before my court date and told my boss everything. I asked my boss if he would write a letter of recommendation that I could take to the judge. My boss wrote a very positive letter about me, my character and honesty, and all my hard work.

The next week, I took this letter and gave it to my lawyer to give to the judge. I pled guilty to the charge of possession of pot, and the judge read the letter of recommendation from my boss. Then the judge said, “I was going to give you more time, but having read this letter, I’m sentencing you to four months in jail.” I said, “Thank you, Your Honor.” A bailiff took me into custody, and I started serving my four months in jail.

When they took me to the provincial jail, they put me in a single cell and had me do hard labor for two weeks. I worked hard at the work they gave me to do, and because I showed that I was a model prisoner, they made me a trustee. This meant I went into a dorm with other trustees.

They selected me and seven other trustees to work out in a provincial forest park to gather dead wood to clean up the forest park. Every day, the guards would drive us eight guys out to the forest and leave us there with a huge lunch—enough food for twenty guys—and then come back in the afternoon and pick us up. This is what I did the whole time I was in jail. As before, I worked hard at the work they gave me.

Because I was a trustee and a model prisoner, I only had to serve forty days in jail, and then I was set free. When I got out, I contacted Jim, my best friend that I had met at the gas station, and as soon as I got a job unloading semitrailers, me and Jim got a place together and continued to be very good friends. After two months at this heavy labor job, my arms and chest got very big, so my friend used my name and got a job at the same place. After two more months, both of us got promoted to work at the train yards unloading semitrailers off the train. We both worked there for about four more months, then Jim got a job delivering pizzas at a pizza restaurant, and about a month later I did the same thing. We worked there for the next year. It was a great job. It paid cash every day, and we only had to work about four hours to make a full day’s pay. Not to mention all the pretty girls that were working at the restaurant.

Chapter 19: E.T.

Ever since God made me reborn when I was nineteen years old, I have had a whole new outlook on life. I’m happy and making new friends, and everyone likes me a lot. Girls come up to me and hit on me all the time, but I just treat them like a friend, which just makes them come onto me even more. I know it would not be right to just sleep with them as I did before I was reborn, so I just continued to party with them and be a best friend to whoever wanted to hang out with me. Me and Jim remained best friends and did lots of things together, like golf and play pool, and, of course, party lots. That’s just what young people in their early twenties did.

I treated women the same way I would treat a guy—just like friends. In May 1981, I was a delivery driver for Luigi’s Pizzeria, the one on Fifth Street. There were two girls that were also delivery drivers working there. Linda was a blonde, blued-eyed girl, and Sue was a brunette, green-eyed girl. Both were eighteen to twenty years old. One night both these girls, Sue and Linda, got off work the same time I did. I was a nice, easygoing guy, so I asked Sue and Linda if they wanted to party with me. Both girls said yes, so I bought two cases of beer and started the party in my 70½ Camaro with an LT1 Corvette engine in it. The music was on loud, but not so loud that we three couldn’t talk. We partied all night and had a great time. The next night when I got off work at 9:00 p.m. as usual, Sue and Linda made sure that they also got off at 9:00 p.m. in case I would ask them to party, and sure enough, I did.

We went partying all night in my Camaro. Linda would always sit up front with me. She was falling in love with me. She kept waiting for me to hit on her, but I treated Linda and Sue the same: as good friends. Linda would never hit on me hard—like say to me, “I like you a lot more than just friends,” or something like that, or whisper in my ear and say, “Let’s go back to my place and have sex.” Sue also liked me a lot. Both had never known a guy like me—so open and honest and fun to be with. I treated both of them as good friends. I always treated women with respect and as friends first.

One day, I went to the pool hall where all the young girls liked me. When I stepped inside, one of the young girls that liked me came running and jumped up and landed in my arms with her legs wrapped around my torso. Soon after, all the girls came in to see me. After an hour I went go to see my best friend, Jim, at his house.

One night everyone between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five were invited to a party over at the house of one of the waitress’s, as her parents were away on vacation. Everyone was having a great time at the party. There was a cute girl hitting on me for a good part of the night. I sensed that I should not get involved with this girl or even make out or have sex with this girl. The party went on for about five hours, and I got pretty drunk. When everyone was leaving, I was putting my shoes on but had to lean against the wall. I put one finger in the air, said, “E.T. go home,” and fell flat on my ass. Everyone laughed and laughed. From that day on I was called E.T. by everyone I knew.

There were many parties all summer long. It was the hottest summer on record. It barely rained at all. One night there was a party and all the regulars where there. At about midnight the cops showed up, so I sat by a cute girl on the couch, put my arms around her shoulder, and whispered to her, “Say we live here so we don’t get kicked out.” When the cops cleared everyone out, me and the girl continued to party. I asked her to have sex, and she said yes, so we went to one of the bedrooms. I asked her if she wanted to do it doggy style, and she said yes and got on the bed on her hands and knees. All of a sudden, something came to me and I thought, “Don’t do it.” So I said, “I can’t do this, I’m sorry.” I felt that this girl was too young and too innocent. When God made me reborn, he took the lust out of me. I would not just use girls for sex. Two weeks went by, and me and my new friend John got a phone call to come over and party with these two girls. After me and John got there, the two girls fed us drinks and put on music. One of the girl’s names was Kim. I had liked this girl for a while, but I knew she had a boyfriend. Ever since me and John walked in, Kim and Laura had been coming onto us.

It was Kim that was coming onto me. As the party went on, me and John were drinking and dancing with the girls. The more the party went on, the more and more Kim came onto me, but my conscience kept telling me that she had a boyfriend. John and Laura went to one of the bedrooms to have sex, but something kept telling me not to have sex with Kim. This was the girl I like the most, over all the other girls in the restaurant. I sensed that Kim and Laura just wanted to have sex with me and John. I partied with Kim but chose not to have sex with her, because I knew that when Kim woke up the next morning she would have to make a choice between me and her boyfriend. I had God watching over me, and when there was a choice of doing the right thing or the wrong thing, I did what was good in God’s eyes.

•   •   •

Still working at Luigi’s Pizzeria, one summer night there was a party at Jim’s place. I was living at home but sometimes stayed at Jim’s. At the party was a very pretty girl, a blonde, blue-eyed girl from California. I was attracted to her right away and showed her with my eyes. She liked me, but not a lot. The next day me and Jim went to this guy’s place and Brandy, the girl I liked, was there, but she was with an older guy, so we left. The next day Brandy invited me and Jim over to her place, so we went. When we got there, Brandy asked me if I wanted to see the house, and I said yes. It was a very nice upper middle class house. First she showed me the attached garage and firewood, and then she showed me her bedroom. She jumped on her bed and offered herself to me. I did not take advantage of her, so she showed me the rest of the house. Jim was sitting in the living room. She asked me to get a log for the fireplace, and I did. After Brandy lit the fire, she sat beside me on the couch and laid her head down in my lap and went to sleep.

I laid my hand on Brandy’s rib cage just under her breast and let her sleep. Jim was jealous of me and Brandy, since he had met her first, so when Brandy woke up half an hour later, Jim said, “We have to go,” and we left. The next day, me and Jim and Brandy went driving around and partying in the car. Brandy sat to my left on the console. She covered our upper bodies with her coat and let me play with her breasts while we drove around. After driving around and partying for a couple of hours, Jim drove to Brandy’s house to drop her off. Jim was still jealous of me. Two days later, Brandy came over to Jim’s house and partied with us. About midnight, I asked Jim to drive me home to my mom’s house, and Brandy came along for the ride. She sat on my lap all the way there. The song “Urgent, So Urgent” by Foreigner came on the speakers.

When the song finished, Brandy rewound the tape to play it a second time and give me a hint that she wanted me to make love to her that night. If this had been before I was reborn, I would have taken her into my room and made love to her all night. But this was after I was reborn, and I did not want to take advantage of this pretty young girl, so I said goodnight to Brandy and Jim.

PART V: A NEW CHAPTER BEGINS

Chapter 20: A Lost Friend and a New Opportunity

In the following days and months, Jim figured out that if I was with him he would never get the girls. After our friendship fell apart, I moved back home and transferred to the restaurant near my home. I started to deliver at the Luigi’s Pizzeria on MacLeod Trail.

After six months of delivering pizza there, the managers asked me if I wanted the full-time job of dispatching the forty-five drivers employed there. They asked me how much money I wanted to do the job. I calculated what the maximum was a driver could make in an hour of delivering pizza, so I told them eight deliveries, or twenty dollars per hour.

They could write off my wage as eight deliveries, meaning the money was not included in the restaurant’s labor costs but was instead written off as a delivery cost. They said okay to twenty dollars per hour and that the hours would be 4:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. Wednesday through Sunday, and 4:00 p.m. to 2:00 a.m. Fridays and Saturdays. I said “deal” and shook the manager’s hand. After doing this job for one month, I got bored, so I started to do some kitchen staff work when there were no orders to be dispatched. As time went on, I learned how to do every job in the kitchen. After six weeks, I took on the responsibility of operating the entire kitchen. If one of the assistant managers tried to come in the kitchen, I would kick them out by saying, “I’ve got it under control.” The general manager heard what I was doing in the kitchen—all the work I was doing for free when not even asked to do the work. I saved the restaurant one hundred hours of labor costs every month. I even improved the way some of the things were done in the kitchen.

After two months of dispatching the orders to the drivers and managing the kitchen, the manager decided to reward me for my hard work by offering me an assistant manager position at the new restaurant that was being built in Lake Bonavista, a very nice area of the city.

The day before the restaurant’s grand opening, me and Dave, the manager, started training staff how to make and cook the pizzas, what to do with the bills, and where to find the extra produce. The next day during the grand opening, there were line ups just to get in the restaurant, and the orders for delivery came out of the printer every five minutes. Dave and three staff made the pizzas and put them in the oven. I took the pizzas out of the oven, cut them, and put them in boxes, then I took care of the customers and dispatched the drivers. If I was too busy, I would call Dave to cut the pizzas for a little while. At nine o’clock the restaurant slowed down, so Dave and two staff took a break, then me and the remaining staff took a break. After that, I started to train the staff how to cook and cut the pizza, how to restock the cheese and toppings, and how to clean the pans and everything else that needed to be cleaned in the restaurant. After I finished training the staff for the night, Dave started to train me on how to be a manager. Dave trained me how to do the paperwork that a manager would need to do. Dave had me do everything that a manager would do to close the restaurant.

After everything was done, Dave told me to come in at 10:00 a.m. the next day so he could train me to open the restaurant. When I came in the next day at 9:45 a.m., Dave was there waiting for me in his car. He asked me if I always showed up fifteen minutes early for work, and I told him I always came at least fifteen minutes early. Dave showed me how to open the restaurant, right from putting the key in the lock and turning off the alarm to taking the first order of the day. He then trained me how to check the paperwork from the previous night. If there were any mistakes, I would have to correct them. After all the paperwork was complete, I sent the paperwork to head office. I then did the paperwork for that morning. Dave then trained me how to make sure that there was enough product, like making sure there were enough green peppers sliced for that day. The next day, I did all the paperwork and made all the product for the day so that Dave did not have to do anything at all. I did this every day for two weeks straight. On the third week, I started to train three staff to be assistant managers. When I was finished, Dave told Mr. Gary Straw, the restaurant owner, what I had done—training three staff to be assistant managers and doing my job as well as Dave’s job, all at the same time.

Ten days later, Gary Straw came to the restaurant to see me. Gary said to me, “Soon we are opening a new restaurant, and we would like you to manage it.” I said, “Thank you very much. I won’t let you down.” I went to Gary’s office the next day to report for work. Gary gave me the address and said, “My restaurant specialist is there. I want you to work with her and learn how to open a restaurant in every aspect.” I said, “Great, I’m anxious to work,” and headed out to the restaurant. I found Mary working there. Mary welcomed me then showed me what had to be done—the counters, the sinks, a freezer, a cooler, and that was it. Over the next two weeks, Mary and me got everything done. We put an ad in both newspapers, and I hired ten staff and seven drivers. I trained the staff and drivers and ordered all the product for the grand opening. We put ads in both newspapers and sent out fifteen thousand take-out menus to all the houses in the areas covered by this restaurant. February 1, 1984, was the grand opening. From 10:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m., there were line ups out the door. The four old-style pizza ovens were full the entire time. Gary, Mary, and I agreed the ovens were not able to handle the volume of the restaurant. The next day we had a conveyor belt oven installed.

The conveyor belt oven cooked two large pizzas every thirty seconds. From 4:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m., the oven was full of pizzas. We did over two thousand dollars in sales that day. After a month, my boss, Derrick Straw (one of Gary’s five sons) told me “your restaurant is number one in sales, number one in food costs, number one in labor costs, and number one in advertising costs. We are giving you a two-thousand-dollar raise.”

After two months I had everybody trained exactly the way I wanted. Now that I had six months of data from the restaurant, I put daily levels in place. I set a level for how many pizzas, chicken wings, cheese, salad, and toppings I would need on each day of the week. I even put levels in for how much labor I needed on a given day. I made everything run like clockwork. After four months, Derrick came to see me.

“You have the best food cost, the best labor cost, the best advertising cost. You have paid off this restaurant as of yesterday. No one has ever paid off a restaurant in four months. We are giving you a three thousand dollar raise.”

“Thank you.”

“You are now the highest paid manager. In fact, the only other persons making more money than you are myself and my brothers. This is the highest we have ever paid anyone.”

“I’m honored. Thank you.”

Then Derrick told me he was going to be sending me some guys to train to be managers. Two days later, the first one showed up and said, “My name is John Wright. I was told to report here for training.” I showed John how to clean the bathroom and toilet. He watched as I cleaned and I told him, “In front of your entire staff, you must do the worst job in the restaurant so that they cannot say ‘I’m not doing that.’” I had John clean the pans and wash the floor. I had him do every job in the restaurant over the next three days, then I took two days to teach him the paperwork.

About six months after I opened the restaurant, I put into place a young man to come in from 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. to do all the prep for that night’s business. I would come in at 10:00 a.m. to check last night’s receipts and paperwork, do that day’s paperwork, order stock, then send the paperwork to head office. At about 11:00 p.m., I would leave for the day.

Chapter 21: Two New Loves

In the spring of 1985, I decided I wanted to race stock cars, as my brother-in-law Mike had been a hobby stock car driver. I asked the owner of the restaurant for sponsorship. After all, I had made him hundreds of thousands of dollars. He said no, so I decided to pay for it out of my own pocket. My brother-in-law offered to help me get started. Mike called Danny, a driver that no longer wanted to race stock cars, and told him about me. They came up with a price for Danny’s super stock car, trailer, and sixteen tires, and then Mike called me and told me to go over to Danny’s place. When Danny opened the door, he said just three words to me.

“Fifteen hundred dollars.”

“That’s for everything?”

“Yes.”

“I can give you half now and the other half in two weeks.”

“Okay,” Danny agreed.

I went home and got my truck and picked up the stock car, trailer, and tires.

I couldn’t believe it—a super stock car, trailer, and tires! When I got home I called my brother-in-law and said, “Thank you, Mike, so much for helping me get the super stock car and trailer. Thank you so much.” Mike said he was glad he could help and told me to have fun racing. I repaired some of the fiberglass on the car and painted it white. I hired a sign painter to put the number and my name on the car. The next day, I took my car out to the track to test it out. I could not believe the power of the 471 CI engine with 545 horsepower. I drove around the track for a couple of hours. There was another guy testing his car, a 1975 Camaro. After we were done testing our cars, we met each other. The other guy was a city police sergeant. After that I went home and called Mike to get start dates, phone numbers, and contact names. Racing started the last weekend in May, and the season finished the first weekend in September. The second week into the season, I saw a good-looking girl looking back at me. Her name was Wendy, and she was the daughter of the lady who ran the concession at the track. I met Wendy the next week while she was serving burgers and drinks at the concession. Unknown to me, Wendy had found out I was Mike’s brother-in-law and had went up to Mike the next day to ask him about me. Mike told Wendy that I was rich and managed restaurants. It turned out Wendy was quite taken with me.

Spectators were welcome to meet the drivers and pit crews and see the cars. Every Friday and Saturday night after the races, all the drivers, pit crews, mechanics, concession stand staff, and front gate personnel had a bonfire, beer shack, and music party behind the track. I had a great time meeting everyone, and everyone welcomed me as a new member—owner at the racetrack. The next Friday night at the party, Wendy came up to me and asked me out on a date after the party. I said, “Sure, what do you want to do?” Wendy said, “After the party we could go for drinks at Stavero’s Pub and Bar.” When I met Wendy at the bar, she said to me, “You drive very good, especially because you did not start in hobby stocks or the sportsman series, but in super stocks, where all the best drivers are.”

“Thank you. You work in the concession at the track, right?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you want to go to the party with me after the races tomorrow?”

“Yes, I’d love to.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

I paid for my drink and went home. The next Friday after the races, I asked Wendy to party with me at the after-race party. Wendy drank beer and partied with me until about midnight, and afterward we went over to Wendy’s. I said, “So when are you going to take me to bed?” So Wendy took my hand and headed upstairs. Wendy and I made love for half an hour, and after that I went to sleep. When I woke up with Wendy the next day, we had breakfast with her mom and her two brothers. After breakfast, Wendy came downstairs with her three-month-old baby. She said, “I named him Andy.” I told her he was a nice baby. Then I had to get to work and told her I would see her that night. She said, “I’ll be there.”

After I checked the restaurant, I went to the track to set up everything for the races that night. That day a guy named Ron Winger came up to me and said, “I’m the best mechanic in town, and if you want me, I’ll be your mechanic for free, all year.” I said, “Okay, I’ll give you a chance.” We set up the car for that night.

Ron turned out to be a great mechanic. He checked everything on the car, and I told him the settings for the timing, tire pressure, etc. After everything was set, I took the car out for some practice laps. After about five laps, I brought the car in.

“How did the car look?” I asked.

“You were super fast on the straightaways, but you’re losing too much speed in the corners.”

“Okay, let’s put five more pounds of air in the right front, and two more pounds in the other three.”

When that was done, I took the car out for some more laps. After about ten laps, I came in and skidded to a stop just before the pit. I jumped out and said, “How was that?” Ron said, “Really good.” We talked about the car and checked everything, then I said, “Put one more pound of air in the right side tires.” I took the car out for three last laps, came in and said, “It’s great, don’t touch a thing.” At 4:00 p.m., the races started. The hobby stocks raced first, and after them the super stock cars raced in a heat race. I came in second place. In my second heat of the day, I came in third place.

When it was time for the super stocks to finish the heat races, they started the race with a green flag. I took the lead in the first turn and held it for two laps, and then Ron passed me on the third turn. Ron led the final eight laps to win, and I came in second.

At 7:00 p.m., they started the hobby stock final for the day. Then the sportsmen class ran their final, and me and the other super stock car drivers got ready for our final twenty-lap race. I told Ron to take one pound of air out of the rear tires. After that was done, I got in the car, hooked up the safety belts, put on my helmet, and fired up the super stock with a push from the tow truck. Then I roared up to the track and set up in order for the start of the race. I was in the front row, outside.

I set the speed for the start of the race at about twenty miles an hour. I led them coming off the fourth corner. As the flag man started the race, I floored it down the straightaway and took the lead. I said to myself, “No one passes me this time.” I exploded into the third corner and kept my foot on the gas. The rear end of the car was sliding sideways as I fought with the steering around the corners, flooring it out of the second and fourth corners, lap after lap. I kept saying to myself, “No one passes me.” As I came out of the fourth corner on the last lap, the flag man threw the checkered flag, and I flew to the flag as fast as the car would go. As I crossed the finish line, I was elated to have finally won my first race—and it was a final race.

As I drove into my pit, I undid the safety belt, took off my helmet, and climbed out of the car. My crew chief and lots of other wanted to congratulate me for winning my first race. Since that was the last race, the fans were allowed to come over to the pit, look at the cars, and talk to the drivers, crew chiefs, and pit crew members. After the fans were done meeting everyone in the pits, I went over to the beer shack, bought some beer, and joined the bonfire party. After Wendy finished work at the concession, she came over to join me. After the party, I went over to Wendy’s house to continue the party there. Later we went to bed, made love, and went to sleep.

We got up the next day and had breakfast. After breakfast we sat in the living room. When I turned to Wendy and asked her if she would like to get a place and live together, Wendy could not say yes fast enough. The next week I rented a place, and Wendy, her baby, and I moved in on the first of July, 1985.

After we started living together, I continued managing my Luigi’s Pizzeria restaurant in Woodbine, and I continued to race my super stock car. I did my best to be a father to young Andy, who was only four months old at the time. Wendy’s mom took care of Andy when I was racing and Wendy was working at the concession, but only when she was not running the gate operations and the concession and announcing from the tower. The only point Wendy made before she moved in with me was that she refused to use cloth diapers. I could care less what diapers Wendy wanted to use for Andy. I was the highest paid manager and operating specialist at Luigi’s Pizzeria.

All summer long, I managed my restaurant during the week and raced my super stock car every weekend. Wendy continued to work in the concession. After the races, we would party at the racetrack with the other drivers, pit crews, and their girlfriends.

•   •   •

The second Sunday of September 1985 was the last day of the stock car races for the year. The proceeds from this weekend’s races did not go to the drivers as winnings but was instead used to pay for the trophies and the dinner at the year-end celebration. The last Saturday of September was reserved for the awards ceremony. Me and Wendy got dressed up, hired a babysitter, and headed to the awards ceremony. The night started with drinks at 6:00 p.m. We were two of six people at our table. Wendy and I socialized with our tablemates—Wendy with the ladies and myself with the guys. Mostly the guys talked about stock cars and the new racetrack being built southeast of the city. At 7:00 p.m., a prime rib dinner was served, and at 7:30 p.m., they started to hand out the trophies. While they were handing out the awards for the other divisions, I thought to myself, “Well, at least I should get a trophy for finishing third in the super stock division.” Finally it was time for my division. I got ready to get up to get my trophy for finishing third, and almost on queue the announcer said, “Now for the super stock division. Finishing third, James!” So, I got up and went to collect my third-place trophy. With pride and a smile on my face, I shook the hand of the president of the Stampede Speedway as he handed me my trophy.

I returned to my table and showed my girlfriend the trophy. I sat down and had a sip of my drink, leaned back in my chair, and relaxed, thinking about how I made it through that without embarrassing myself too much. Now I could just relax and enjoy myself the rest of the night. The announcer finished handing out the trophies for second and first place in the super stock class. As with every trophy handed out that night, everyone applauded a little for third place trophies, a little more for second place, and a lot more for first place in each division. The announcer then said, “Now for the biggest trophy of the night—the Rookie of the Year. This trophy normally goes to the new guy who did the best in hobby stock, where 99 percent of stock drivers start out. This year’s winner did not start in hobby stock, nor did he even start in the sportsman series or the Austin Mini series. This driver started out in our top series—super stock. The Rookie of the Year is James!”

I was stunned! And shocked! As I got up and walked over to receive my trophy, everyone applauded and cheered. The trophy was huge—over two feet tall. When I brought the trophy back to the table, everyone at the table cheered and congratulated me for winning Rookie of the Year. I could not believe my good fortune. Then they announced the final trophy, the Driver’s Trophy, for best driver as voted on by all the other drivers. Then, with me still a bit in shock from winning the Rookie of the Year award, they announced “James” as the winner of the Driver’s Trophy. As I got up and walked over to receive my trophy, everyone cheered and applauded. When I returned to my table with the trophy, everyone congratulated me for winning the most trophies one person had ever won. I thanked everyone for the sentiment. Now it was time to drink, dance, and party the night away.

Every time someone came up to me to congratulate me for winning the most trophies that anyone had ever won, I blushed, as I was still in shock and a little embarrassed. I thanked them and opened my hands and shook my head in disbelief. Never, ever had something like this happened to me. The party carried on into the wee hours of the morning, and everybody had a great time.

After all the dancing and partying, me and Wendy said goodnight to everyone, packed up all the trophies, and headed for home. The next day life returned to normal, and I was just a regular guy again. I put the stock car in the garage and parked the car trailer and the truck in my carport beside the garage. I put away my tools, fire suit, and helmet, then I cleaned up the garage and went into the house and proudly put my trophies on top of the TV for no one to see but myself and my girlfriend, Wendy. Monday morning, I went back to work managing my Luigi’s Pizzeria restaurant in Woodbine. Wendy did not work for a living; she stayed at home, keeping house and taking care of her son, Andy.

•   •   •

About a week after I had finished racing, I was driving down my back alley when I noticed a 1980 Trans Am for sale. I decided to knock on the door and ask how much they wanted for it. The man of the house came out with the keys.

He explained to me that the carburetor had been on fire, and he didn’t know how much damage had been done to the engine. I took the keys and checked out the interior of the car, which was in good shape. I knew this car would sell for over five thousand dollars in good condition. Next, I opened the hood. Everything was in great condition except the carburetor, which had burned so hot that the top of the carburetor was melted. I knew instantly that the engine would have stopped dead the second the fire had started so there would be no damage to the engine. I closed the hood. The paint on the top of the hood where the fire had been was scorched. I checked the rest of the car. It was in great condition. I asked the guy how much he wanted for it. The guy said, “Six hundred dollars.” I said, “Okay, but you have to help me push it to my garage.” The guy said, “No problem,” and I handed him six hundred dollars. The man signed the registration, and it was a done deal.

After I got the car in the garage, I put on my coveralls and took off the carburetor and saw there were a few ashes below the carburetor, and that was it. I vacuumed out the ashes and headed to the auto wreckers. I bought a Holly 750 double pumper carburetor for ten bucks, took it home, and installed it. I hooked up the lines and set the carburetor needles, got in and turned the key, and vroom—she started on the first turn.

After I had sanded the area and then painted it with the primer, I ordered the paint. When the paint came in, I painted the primed area then listed the car for sale. The next week I sold the car for just over five thousand dollars. I was very happy I could put to work all the knowledge I had gained by racing and working on the race car all year.

The next week, I went to visit my mom. She told me she had taken her car into the neighborhood garage to get checked out and that the garage had said the car needed over two thousand dollars’ worth of work. I looked at the estimate and found out that the car needed new brakes, upper and lower ball joints, two tie rod ends, a tune up, an oil change, and two new tires.

I told my mom that the car was only worth a thousand dollars, but she said she wanted to get the car fixed. I thought about all the knowledge I had gained while I raced and worked on stock cars for the past year and decided I could do all the work.

“I’ll fix the car. I have all the tools, timing lights, and everything I need to do all that work, and I’ll get it done for under a thousand dollars.”

“Are you sure you can do it?”

“Yeah, I can do it. Drop the car off tomorrow and I’ll have it back to you in three days.”

When my mom dropped the car off, I went to work right away. I took the wheels off, took the brakes apart, and took the tie rods off. I took the drums and rotors to Auto-Value. I had them turn the rotor and drums, and then I bought the tie rods, brake pads, and brake parts, the upper and lower ball joints, spark plugs, points, rotor cap, and oil and filter. Then I rented the tool I needed for removing and installing the ball joint and headed for home.

It took me the rest of the day to install everything and do the oil change and tune up. The next day I drove down to Togo Tire and found two used studded winter tires with lots of good tread left and had them installed. I drove home, added up the costs, and headed to my mom’s. When I walked in she said, “It’s done already?”

“Yup, and got it all done for under three hundred and fifty dollars.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope, that’s it. Do you want to go for a drive?”

“Yeah!”

We went for a short drive and when we came back she said, “It drives great. Thank you, James.”

“More than happy to do it, Mom. Next time they tell you that you need work done, call me, and if I can do it I will.”

Two weeks later, I went over to visit my mom. She said she had taken her car in and had them check it out and everything was okay. “You should have seen the respect they treated me with,” she said. “It was, ‘Yes, Mrs. Wright,’ this and that. When I told them my son did the work, they said you did good work and anything I wanted them to check, they would be honored to do it.”

Chapter 22: The Last Straw

Whenever there was a new restaurant that needed to be opened, they would give me the job to open it. I would have to do everything needed to open the restaurant. I would have to buy all the equipment, ovens, tills, fridges, coolers, pizza tables, and everything else needed. I would also have to advertise, deal with city inspectors, and of course train all the staff. Sometimes the restaurant would be in a new city, so I would have to stay in hotels and eat in restaurants and bars.

Gary Straw came to me that fall and asked me to open a new restaurant in Red Deer. I said yes, so in the first week of October, I headed to Red Deer. When I arrived there, I checked into my hotel and then headed over to the new restaurant to assess and prioritize what needed to be done. The drywallers were just finishing, so I called a city inspector to approve their work, and I ordered all the equipment that had not already been bought. Waiting for me was the future manager of this location that I had already spent two weeks training for the position. I hired contractors to finish the bathrooms, lay tiles, and install counters, and then I hired plumbers to finish the bathroom and the sinks, pop machine lines, and the icemaker. I also hired a gas fitter to install the oven, and then I called a city inspector to approve all the work. I then got a city license and hired the staff and delivery people. I had the manager train the staff. I oversaw the training while I trained the assistant manager. I placed the ads for the grand opening and blanketed the entire delivery area with flyers. Two days later, the restaurant opened for business.

It took me fourteen days to open the restaurant, and I brought the restaurant in seven thousand dollars under budget. I had receipts that were charged to the restaurant chain and receipts that I had paid cash for out my pocket or that I paid for with my Visa. These receipts were in my briefcase at the new restaurant. Before I came in the day after the grand opening, John Straw (one of Gary Straw’s sons) went into my briefcase and took the receipts out, and then he mixed up all his receipts with the receipts I had. When I came to the restaurant and found out what John had done, I was very upset. Now there was no way to tell what receipts were what. I just told John I was heading back to Calgary. All the way back to Calgary, I fumed over what John had done, and the more I thought about it, the more unbelievable it was. When I got back to Calgary I told Wendy about it.

John was the restaurant manager of the 204-seat restaurant in Red Deer. Gary came to the restaurant to check how things were going. When Gary talked to some of the assistant managers, they told Gary that his son, John, always borrowed money from them and that John left the restaurant in the afternoon all the time and did not come back to finish his shift. When Gary checked the safe, he found IOUs from John in place of the thousand dollars in coins and small bills that was supposed to be in the safe. When Gary confronted John about the IOUs, John said he has a gambling problem. Gary said to John, “If you have a problem, I want you close to me so I can keep an eye on you.” Put your house up for sale and pack everything you and your family own, and I’ll buy a house for you in Calgary. You can oversee the smaller restaurants in Calgary. You will get a base salary but not a percentage from the profits.

In June 1985, John Straw gave me some bad news. John told me I was the highest I could go in the company. The only people above me were the owner and his sons. I was the highest paid employee in the restaurant chain other than someone with the last name Straw.

I was still upset and hurt about the receipt thing when I went into work on Monday and found my restaurant in disarray. The restaurant was dirty, disorganized, and the paperwork had not been done in the two weeks since I’d left to open the new restaurant in Red Deer. The one responsible for all of this was John Straw, who had been in charge of the management of my restaurant while I was away. This made me so mad. In two weeks, the man who was the boss over me had screwed up the flagship of the entire restaurant chain to an abomination. On top of all this, I learned that John had transferred my prep cook to another location without my permission, leaving my restaurant with no prep cook and understaffed.

I called John to discuss the restaurant condition and lack of staff.

“It was bad enough that you messed up Red Deer and got demoted to oversee Calgary’s small restaurants, but then you messed up my restaurant when I was doing Gary a favor by opening a new restaurant in Red Deer. The least you could have done was to follow the idiot-proof checklists I set in place, but to steal one of my best employees without my permission is unforgiveable. You are as you were in Red Deer—a failure. I’m handing in my two weeks’ notice, and don’t think I won’t report this major screw up to you father. I’m sure he will be eager to learn of your latest mistake. This probably is the worst mistake you’ve had in a year. You might be demoted to dishwasher after losing the best manager/opening specialist this restaurant chain has ever seen—all after two weeks of being put in charge of my restaurant.”

The next day John phoned me to tell me not to come in and that I was fired. I had to sue Gary Straw for my final paycheck and four weeks’ severance pay. When the court date came, the judge sided with me and awarded me my final pay and severance pay.

Chapter 23: A New Beginning

I took a week to think over my options. I decided to start my own delivery company. I started looking in the paper to see if there was anyone looking for a driver—owner. I found someone and decided to give them a call. I went to see them and talk money. They liked me, and they agreed to pay me a 20 percent commission for all deliveries and gave me an exclusive contract to handle 100 percent of their deliveries. I got everything in writing and started the next day.

In December 1985, I wanted to give Wendy a Christmas to remember, so I bought a seven-foot Christmas tree then proceeded to pack presents around the tree so high that each stack rose above the tree.

In the time leading up to Christmas, I had thought about family more and more. I thought about how I wanted to settle down and start a family and how Wendy was good-looking and she and her family were healthy and that I loved Wendy and she loved me. I wanted to create a loving home for Wendy and her son.

The more and more I thought about Wendy and myself, I kept asking myself questions. Do I love her? Does she love me? Would I be a good father to her son? Do I want to have children? Would Wendy be a good mother to our children? Do I have good genes? Do Wendy and her family have good genes? Do I make the money to support a family? Many would say all you need is love, but I knew it was not that simple. Every question I came up with was answered with a very big positive yes. I did love Wendy, and I did want a family and children to carry on my family name, so without delay I popped the question to Wendy and she said, “Yes, yes!” We set a date for June 21, the first day of summer, and sent out the invitations. Three months before the wedding, Wendy asked me if I wanted to have a baby. I said, “Sure, if that’s what you want. Aren’t you worried about people talking?” She said, “No, we love each other and we’re getting married in three months anyway.” Wendy went off the pill, and twenty days later she was pregnant.

Shortly after Wendy got pregnant, I took her to pick out the engagement and wedding rings. We picked out an engagement ring that fit together with a matching wedding band and a matching men’s wedding band. Wendy’s wedding band had four 10-point diamonds in it, and her engagement ring had a quarter carat brilliant cut diamond that came with a blueprint that I approved after examining it under a microscope. Wendy picked out five 10-point diamonds to be set in my wedding ring.

“Do you like your engagement and wedding rings?” I asked Wendy.

“I love them—and you, honey. Do you like your wedding ring?”

“I love it. It’s just perfect, and you are too.”

I kissed Wendy and told the salesclerk, “We’ll take them.” The profit I had made on the Trans Am I had fixed up paid for Wendy’s engagement ring and both our wedding bands. After leaving Spence Diamonds, I took Wendy to a movie and dinner. At dinner I said, “Okay, my job is done. The invitations, bridesmaids, wedding cake, and everything else is up to you, your mom, and my mom. Make sure you make everything exactly as you have always dreamed it would be.” Wendy kissed me and said, “I love you.”

When we got home, Wendy started making plans for the wedding. She asked me how big of a wedding I wanted. I replied, “Not too big. There will be about a hundred guests from my side of the family and however many you want from your side of the family.” In the next weeks, Wendy and our moms made all the plans for the wedding. As the wedding date approached, Wendy was more excited and worried and stressed, but my mom and Trudy made everything as easy for Wendy as they could and took care of as much as they could, which relaxed Wendy as much as was possible for a bride-to-be.

•   •   •

It was June, and the wedding was just a couple of weeks away. Between our moms and my sister, Trudy, everything went off without a hitch, and before we knew it, it was June 21, 1986, and we were getting married. When I was saying my vows, the honesty and love overcame me and I started crying, which started Wendy crying when she said her vows. Then we kissed, everybody cheered, and we were off to the park for pictures. Me, Wendy, and our five best men and bridesmaids started drinking and partying and then went on to the reception.

We did not have a honeymoon. We could not afford one. But I brought Wendy flowers every day for the first six months we were married.

Wendy started to show in August. I worked seven days a week. Before I knew it, November 1986 had come and gone and I had worked every day for a whole year with the exception of two days to get married.

Chapter 24: Jackpot

On January 9, 1987, Wendy went into labor. It was a long labor—about fifteen hours—and on January 10, 1987, at 10:00 a.m., she gave birth to a six pound seven ounce baby girl. I named her Stephanie. Before they moved Wendy and Stephanie into a room, I took Stephanie out to show Wendy’s mom and brother, who were waiting outside the entrance to the operating room. I told Wendy’s mom and brother her name. Later, Wendy’s mom told Wendy that I had been smiling from ear to ear, and nobody could wipe the smile off my face. I was a very proud daddy. After Wendy and Stephanie had drifted off to sleep, I headed for home to call my mom and sister to tell them the good news.

After that I decided to go to bingo, and as lucky as I was when it came to bingo, as usual I did not win on the nickel and regular games. But I did not care if I won on those games or not. I went to bingo to win one of the two bonanzas, which paid between 1,500 and 3,500 dollars. I was in a real good mood, which always resulted in me being just that much luckier. I bought my usual five dollars’ worth of the first bonanza cards (ten cards at fifty cents each), and after the first forty-eight numbers were called, I only needed five more numbers on two of those cards, and I only needed four numbers on one card. I felt good about my chances to win the bonanza because I had won a number of bonanzas when I was in a similar situation. They started calling numbers for the bonanza, and as things happened, I got down to needing only two numbers on two cards. I did not win that bonanza, but that was okay. With my new little girl on my mind, nothing could put a damper on me that day.

Next I bought five dollars’ worth of the second bonanza cards. A couple of minutes later they called the first forty-eight numbers for the second bonanza. As usual, I marked the number on a sheet before I started to mark off the numbers on my cards. When I finished marking my cards, I only needed four numbers on two of the cards and five numbers on two other cards. After the intermission, they played the balance of the regular games, and then it was time for the second bonanza. I said to myself, “Okay, four in a row, let’s go.” They started calling the numbers. The first two were not on my good cards, but then it started. First one, then two, then three and four. I proudly called bingo. The volunteer came to check the numbers on my card, and sure enough, I had won 2,585 dollars. After I collected my winnings, I headed over to the Sheraton Hotel lounge, as I did every time I won a bonanza, to have two or three draft beer. As I sat down at the bar and got my first Schooner, one of the regular customers asked me, “How’s your day?”

“Great! My wife gave birth to my first child this morning. A baby girl, six pounds seven ounces.” Both the guys beside me said, “Awe, that’s great! Your first one. What’s her name?” I proudly told them it was Stephanie. One replied, “Awe, that’s a great name. Congratulations.” I said, “Thanks man, and to top it off I just won 2,500 dollars at bingo.” “No kidding,” they both replied. I said, “Bartender, bring these guys two Schooners on me.” One replied, “Thanks man,” and the other replied, “You don’t have to do that.” I said, “I want to, it’s not every day I have a baby and then win on top of it.” They both thanked me and the guy on my right followed with, “Cheers! Here’s to your baby girl.” I tapped glasses with both guys, and they drank to my baby girl, Stephanie. After three Schooners I said, “That’s my limit guys. I’ll see you around.” I left the bartender a five-dollar tip and headed back to the hospital to tell Wendy the good news.

After I told her she said, “I knew it. I had a feeling you were going to go to bingo, and I knew you would win. I just had that feeling.” The doctor wanted to keep Wendy and Stephanie overnight. I stayed with them until Wendy went to sleep after supper. When I got home, I fell fast asleep, as I had been up for over thirty-six hours. I slept for twelve hours and woke up the next morning at 6:00 a.m. When I had showered and put on clean clothes, I headed back to the hospital to bring Wendy and Stephanie home.

When Stephanie was born she did not cry, not even when the nurse cleared her throat and nose with suction and cleaned her up. When Stephanie was born she was purple, and I commented that she looked like E.T. from the movie! Not until seventy-two hours after Stephanie was born did the euphoria end for me. When Wendy got home, she put Stephanie in the crib that I had built for my first-born child. The next day, I returned to my job and continued working seven days a week. Wendy did not work. She stayed home and looked after the kids and kept house. Wendy had phobias. She had a phobia about the weather, and she would never get into an elevator, among other things.

•   •   •

When I slept, I would sometimes sleep with my eyes open or talk in my sleep. Wendy learned this in the first month that we lived together. She figured out that when I was talking in my sleep, she could talk ask me questions and I would answer her truthfully. I talked in my sleep very often, so Wendy could ask me as many questions as she wanted, as often as she wanted. Wendy never told me that I talked in my sleep or that she asked me questions. This should tell you what kind of woman she was. Can you imagine what kinds of questions a wife or girlfriend would ask her mate when she could have him answer truthfully and without him knowing about it? Like questions of this nature: Have you ever cheated on me? How old were you when you had your first sex with a girl? How many girlfriends have you had? Have you ever done this in bed? Do you love me? And so on. Can you image how much some wives would pay to be able to ask their husbands questions and have them tell the truth? You can bet Wendy asked every possible question she could up with, and then she would have days to think up more questions to ask me the next time I started talking in my sleep. It would not have mattered if she had told me about it. Ever since I was reborn by God Almighty himself, I was innocent. I trusted everyone and told the truth all the time, like an innocent young child would do, except that I have an IQ of 137. Because of this, if she had told me, it would not have changed anything.

Anyway, the time was early August 1987, and one night when I was sleeping, Wendy decided to ask me if I wanted to have another baby. In my subconscious I answered yes. About a month later, Wendy came up to me and said, “I’m pregnant.”

“Shouldn’t you have asked me first?”

“I did.”

“When?”

“When you were sleeping.”

“If you would have come to me and asked me if I wanted another baby, I would have said ‘Yes, if that’s what you want.’”

I kept working to support my family, and Wendy stayed at home looking after the kids. I began to get concerned about Wendy not going out of the house except for groceries, so I sat down with her and told her, “I want you to get out of the house from time to time, even if you just take the kids to the playground and back.” But as time went on, Wendy went out less and less.

•   •   •

On May 7, 1988, Wendy gave birth to a seven pound six ounce baby boy. I was proud of my son. I wanted an heir to inherit whatever fortune I would have at my death, but most important to me was that I had a son to carry on the family name. I could trace my family heritage back to the time of Napoleon and the sixteenth century. My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather was the head guard to the king of Germany.

I named my son Richard. I named him Richard so he could use the five different versions of his name, Douglas for his father, Andrew for his grandfather, and Joseph for his great grandfather. I stayed with Wendy all the way through the birth, just as I did with our first baby. This time it only took six hours.

After about half an hour, the nurses cleaned up Wendy and Richie and put them in a room. I went in and stayed with Wendy and my new son for two hours. When Wendy said she was tired, I said, “I’ll let you and Richie get some rest.” I kissed Wendy and headed for home. After I showered, I decided to go to bingo. When I walked into the bingo hall and bought my bingo cards, I headed for my regular spot just in front of the concession stand. A group of ladies that were almost always at bingo was sitting at the end of the table where I sat. When I walked by them, I overheard one of the ladies comment, “There he goes; he’ll win again.” I bought my usual five dollars’ worth of first bonanza cards. They called seven numbers before a lady called bingo and won the bonanza. Then I bought five dollars’ worth of the second bonanza cards. I did not get any good cards, so I bought another five dollars’ worth. As they called the numbers, I marked them off on the special number list that the bingo hall supplies for free. After I marked them, I had one card that only needed three numbers and two cards that needed only four more numbers. I felt very good about my chances of winning the bonanza.

When it was time for the second bonanza. I said to myself, “Okay, three in a row.” They started calling numbers. The third number called was on one of my good cards. I said, “Okay, three or four in a row.” Before they called a number, they show the back of the ball so everyone knows what column it will be under (blue for Bs, white for Ns, and so on). I knew the next number was an N, and said, “Okay, c’mon 42,” and it was. I said, “Okay, two in a row.” The next ball was a B. I said, “B8, c’mon,” and it was. Now I said, “G48.” When they showed the ball it was green. I said, “Forty-eight,” and I had a feeling it was. They said, “G48.” I yelled, “Bingo!” Then one of the volunteers came to check the card and confirmed that it was a winner. Then the volunteer took me and the card to the back office to get me to sign the card and pay me. I’m not sure of the exact amount, but it was around four thousand dollars. Driving home I thought, “Wendy is going to be so happy when I tell her I won the bonanza.” I went home to get some sleep so I could get up early to go and pick up Wendy and Richie from the hospital. When I got to the hospital the next morning and told Wendy, she said, “I knew it! I knew you would go to bingo and that you would win the bonanza! Every time I’m in the hospital you go and win the bonanza!”

Everything checked out okay with my new son, Richie and Wendy, so we packed up everything and headed for home. When we got home, I cleaned the house and went out for diapers and food so Wendy would not have to cook. The next day we got Wendy’s mom to babysit, and then I took Wendy out shopping to buy Richie everything he would need until he was a year old, then we bought enough food to last for the next three months. The next day, I returned to working seven days a week to support my family of five. I continued working seven days a week for the balance of 1988 and all of 1989 and 1990 while Wendy stayed at home keeping house and taking care of the children.

We did not have any more children. Every year I had a serious talk with Wendy about going outside, but Wendy had a thing about bad weather. If there was even one cloud in the sky, Wendy would not go out. I thought this was unfair to the kids because she would not let them go outside either, not even to the backyard to play and just get some fresh air.

Chapter 25: Blind Date

Wendy had gone from being taken care of by her mother to being taken care of by me. She had never lived alone or even with a girlfriend. She never even had a real job—ever! For over a year now, Wendy had been getting up, putting on her housecoat, and then lying on the couch to watch soap operas, drink Pepsi, and smoke cigarettes. She refused to go outside. I did not know what to do. She wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say on the matter. I would tell Wendy how unfair and unhealthy it was, especially concerning the children, but Wendy would just ignore me, same as she did every time I brought up the subject.

Early in 1991, I had another very serious talk with Wendy about going outside, even if it was just to take the children to the park and back. The kids were three, four, and five years old, and I was growing very concerned about the serious effect not going outside and getting fresh air was having on them. I was also very concerned about the fact that they were not playing with other children and therefore not learning how to socialize. I also wanted the children in day care so they could start learning the things they would need to know before entering kindergarten. I also thought Wendy should get a job so that she could get some self-confidence and self-respect. Needless to say, Wendy was against everything, although she did not say that to me. She did what she did every time I tried to talk to her about these subjects—she said nothing at all. It was like talking to a brick wall.

The next day came and went and nothing changed. Wendy did what she did every day. She got up, poured some cereal and milk in three bowls, and then lay on the couch and smoked cigarettes and drank Pepsi all day long. Most days she would not even bathe. She continued to refuse to go outside. I got up every day and went to work, same as I did every day, and did my husbandly and fatherly duties. Days went by, then weeks, and after two months I tried one more time to get Wendy to go outside. Once again I explained to Wendy how good and healthy the fresh air and sunshine would be for the kids and her—how she and the kids could make new friends and playmates. She and the kids could get tans and who knows how much fun it would be. But as always, Wendy would not even talk about it. For four years Wendy had just lain on the couch, watching soap operas while drinking Pepsi and smoking cigarettes. Each year she would clean the house a little less well than the year before, do the laundry less often than the year before, bathe less than the year before, do her hair less often than the year before, and make meals less often than the year before.

Wendy just let herself go more and more, with one exception—she maintained her weight. I thought that maybe she was getting self-absorbed with all the soap operas she watched all day, every day. Maybe Wendy wondered why some millionaire hunk of a man with abs of steel didn’t knock on her door, sweep her off her feet, and whisk her away to a mansion on a tropical island to shower her with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and pearls and to travel the world eating at the finest restaurants and living happily ever after.

Wendy could have had a really good life with me and our children if she had wanted to. I was a good-looking man with a slim, muscular build. I was a super stock car driver who was fun to be with, and a loving husband who came home to her every night and never cheated on her no matter how many reasons she gave me to cheat. I did not make millions of dollars, but I made a good dollar—enough to give my family a middle to upper middle class way of living.

But nothing changed. As usual, I got up the next day and went to work and Wendy did as she always did—got up, lay on the couch, smoked cigarettes, and drank Pepsi, probably wondering why one of the hunks on the soap opera didn’t knock on her door.

•   •   •

After two weeks had passed, I felt like I had to do something, so I paid all the bills and the rent and I packed my clothes into the car.

“Now you will have to get up and do things, like showering, fixing your hair, getting dressed, and going outside—maybe even getting a job. This is not permanent. If you are willing to try to improve yourself and start caring about yourself, our children, and our marriage, then I will move back home. Until then, I will come and visit you and our children every week, and you and the kids can call me anytime you want.”

I did this not to hurt Wendy but to help her. I hoped now she would be forced to get up and learn to take care of herself, maybe take some pride in her appearance. I thought, “Wendy has not done her makeup since the day of her wedding, and God only knows why.”

After a week had passed, I came to visit Wendy and my children. When I asked Wendy what she had done all week, she replied, “I went to welfare to get money.” I thought, “Now the government is taking care of her.”

I said, “Well, that’s the first step. You went outside and you secured some money for you and the kids.” Wendy was dressed and had her hair done but did not wear makeup. She asked me to stay for dinner. I accepted, and we had a nice dinner together with the kids. I spent some quality time with the children before their bedtime. Then I went home but told Wendy I would see her next week. I had every intention of rejoining my wife and family just as soon as Wendy showed she was willing to do what was necessary to keep our family together. The next week I visited my wife and family again. When I asked Wendy what she had done this week, Wendy replied, “I cleaned the house and took care of Stephanie and Richie.” I stayed for supper and spent time with my children. After the children went to bed, Wendy asked me to stay with her all night long, and I agreed. The following week, Wendy called me to tell me she had moved to a new duplex. When I went to visit Wendy and the kids, I found a clean duplex with the living room and kitchen upstairs and three bedrooms downstairs. I told Wendy she did not do too bad. Once again, Wendy was dressed and her hair was clean, but she still did not have her makeup done.

I asked what she had done during the past week.

“I kept the house clean.”

“Did you go outside at all?”

“No.”

“Did our children go outside?”

“No.”

“Have our children played with other children?”

“No.”

“What else is new?”

“Welfare told me I have to either get a job or go to school. Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“Yes, I will.”

Stephanie and Richie ran to me yelling, “Daddy, Daddy!” I hugged my children as I did every time I came over to visit. I spent some quality time with them, and after supper when Wendy asked me to spend the night, I replied, “Yeah, okay.” I came to visit each Friday for the next two months. Nothing changed. Each Friday was the same. Wendy had not gone outside, neither had the kids. She had not found a job, and the children had not played with any other children. Stephanie was four and Richie three, and neither had ever played with other children. The children had not even attended a birthday party—ever. Over the last three months, I had noticed that Stephanie seemed to be talking for Richie, and when Richie talked he seemed to be developing a speech impediment and was well behind where he should be for a three-year-old child. I knew that this would impede his progress in school and could even develop into a serious learning disability.

Wendy did say that she was going to get a thirty-thousand-dollar student loan to go back to school. When she asked me to stay overnight, I decided to decline. When she asked me to stay for supper, I accepted just so I could spend some more time with my children. After supper, Wendy put the kids to bed then asked me if I wanted to have sex—not in the bedroom but in the living room, and she offered to do things that she had never offered to do during our five years of marriage. I stayed to see what would happen, but that is all I will say regarding this matter.

I came to visit again the next Friday, as I had not given up on Wendy as of yet. As in the previous nine weeks, it was the same thing. Nothing had changed. I stayed for supper and when Wendy asked me to stay overnight I agreed in order to show Wendy I had not given up on her and our marriage. When I woke up Saturday, I found that Wendy had already showered, fixed her hair, and was putting on her makeup. Not only all that, but she was wearing her best clothes.

“What are you getting all dolled up for? You have not put on makeup since our wedding day.”

“I have a date.”

“Oh, really. With who?”

“His name is Paul.”

“And where did you meet this guy?”

“I haven’t yet. My auntie knows him.”

“Which aunt, the one that smokes drugs?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So this is a blind date?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going outside for this date?”

“Yeah.”

“By the looks of it, you’re going to throw yourself at this guy.”

“And so what if I do?”

“I’m leaving. Have fun on your date.”

The next Friday I went to visit Wendy and the kids. When I got to the house, Wendy invited me in. Stephanie and Richie ran to me screaming, “Daddy, Daddy!” I took both children into my arms and hugged them. Then I followed Wendy into the kitchen. When we got to the kitchen Wendy said, “This is Paul.” Then this guy extended his hand to shake mine. I just gave this guy a dirty look. I turned to Wendy and said, “Is this what you want?” Wendy just said yes. I said, “Well, how about I just take my kids and go.” Wendy said, “Okay,” and at that I took Stephanie and Richie to the door, put their shoes and coats on, and put them in the car and left.

I decided to take the kids to my mom’s to see if we could stay there for a while. She and my father were now separated and he had moved out just after I had become dispatcher at the restaurant. When I got there, she was delighted at the prospect of her son and grandchildren living with her. There were three spare bedrooms for me to choose from, so I chose the biggest one for Stephanie and Richie and the second biggest for myself. The next day, I went out and bought two new twin-size beds for the kids’ room. After I took the beds home and set them up, I brought all my stuff home and moved in. When I had to work, Mom babysat Stephanie and Richie. We all lived happily together for two months before Wendy called to inquire about the kids. The kids had never asked me about their mother. When Wendy called, she told me she wanted the kids back. I told her no. Two weeks later, Wendy called and asked my mom if she could come over and see the kids. She came over when she knew I would be at work. She convinced my mom that the kids should be with their mother, so my mom gave Wendy the kids.

When I got home from work and found out what my mother had done, I was very upset. I asked my mom how she could do this, because now it was going to be almost impossible for me to ever get custody of my children. My mother said that she did not want to take care of the kids while I was at work and that Wendy was very upset about not having the kids at home with her. I asked my mom why she didn’t tell me about her not wanting to take care of the kids while I was at work. She told me that she knew I would convince her that it was not for very long. I said, “I could have made arrangements for the kids to go to day care.” My mom said, “But what about at night?” I said I would have done it. My mom did not reply.

•   •   •

I took the kids every second weekend for the next two years. Wendy wanted sole custody and I wanted joint custody, but Wendy would not agree to that. So for the next two years we battled over the matter. I did not have a very good lawyer, but Wendy had a good one. After two years, Wendy’s lawyer made an offer of reasonable access. I asked my lawyer what that meant. My lawyer said, “You just call two weeks before you want to take the kids.” I was tired of fighting over the kids, so I said okay.

For the next six months there was no problem. I got the kids every second weekend with only one exception. Three months after the divorce was final, on the drive home to my house, Stephanie, who was six at the time, told me that her mom wanted to know if she could change their names. I told Stephanie to tell her mom no. On another drive home, Stephanie said, “Mommy said Paul is the new daddy,” and then Stephanie said, “O-whoops,” and covered her mouth with her little hand and said, “Mommy said not to tell.”

Shortly after getting home, I turned on the TV and sat in the recliner in the living room. Right away both Stephanie and Richie came up and sat on me, one on each leg. I put some cartoons on and both kids laid their little heads against my chest. I put my arms around each of them for the next two hours. That’s exactly the way they stayed; neither Stephanie nor Richie moved at all. They were so content and missed their daddy so much that they both sat there on my thighs, with their little heads against my chest and my arms around them, lovingly holding them. Not a word of lie—they never lifted their heads from my chest or even looked at the TV for two hours. I dared not move my arms or do anything to interrupt their contentment of being held and feeling loved by their daddy.

At 3:30 p.m. I had to tell them, “Okay, I have to take you home now. Your mother wants you home by 4:00 p.m.” Stephanie and Richie never said a word. They listened to their daddy, same as they always did their entire lives. They never talked back, whined, or anything. They were perfect little angels. I got them dressed and drove them home. When we got there, I hugged and kissed both of them and told them that I loved them and always would and that they were to remember that. Then I watched as they went up to the house and went in. Little did I know that that would be the last time I would ever see my children again.

Six months after the divorce was final, I started getting excuses from Wendy like, “No, we’re going to a birthday party that weekend,” or “No, we’re going camping that weekend,” or “The sky is too blue,” or any one of ten other excuses, even though I had called weeks in advance. Every time I called, there would be another excuse. Then Wendy said that I had to call her mom to get access. I called Wendy’s mom and said, “I would like to get the kids in two weeks, and if that weekend is no good, I would like the weekend after that. And if that weekend is no good, I would like the weekend after that, then two weeks after that, then two weeks after that, and every two weeks for the whole year.” I did not hear back from Wendy’s mom so I called her, and she said that Wendy had not called her back. I called two weeks later and still Wendy had not called her back. I called another two weeks later and Wendy’s mom said, “Wendy is not answering her phone now.” I called two months later, and Wendy’s mom said that she had still not heard from Wendy.

I was resigned to the fact that I was not going to see my kids for a very long time, or even ever, since I could not afford a lawyer. All I could do was keep my job delivering pizzas and keep paying my child support. I knew at some point in my children’s lives, in their own time, they would seek out their father. And I knew I had the truth on my side and that’s what would matter in the end.

Chapter 26: Hockey Cards

I continued delivering pizzas for the next two years. One day, the corner store started giving away sheets of hockey cards of the Calgary Flames. They were also selling packs of hockey cards, so I bought some packs. I liked the cards, so I collected the set. In the packs were some specialty cards called insert cards that were rare and hard to come by. I started to go to hockey card shops and sports card shows to collect the sets of these insert cards. One day, I bought a hockey card price guide. I studied this guide and found that the most expensive cards in the guide were different sets of insert cards from the current year and from the previous year. I set out to collect all the cards from these two years as I anticipated that these cards would be highly sought after and would only increase in value. Well, it only took me two months to collect every insert card from every set, and I also collected every regular set from the past three years. It was now June 1993, and I had two choices: first, to wait for the new cards to come out for the next year in September or October or second, to open a hockey card shop. After all, I already had all the stock that everyone was looking for. On August 1, 1993, I opened my own hockey card shop.

The first day I only did thirty dollars in sales. This worried me greatly. In the following days sales grew, but I struggled to keep the shop open. There were thirty-three hockey card shops in Calgary when I opened my shop. I did not have much money for advertising, so I relied on word of mouth. I kept my inventory of rare insert cards that everyone was after, even the new rare insert cards from the sets that came out in September and October. These new insert cards were two to three times more rare and hard to come by and two to three times more expensive. I struggled for the first two years. Any money I made was reinvested back into the business to buy more cards—cards from older years, rookie cards, and sets—to increase sales and build a larger customer base. My business grew over the next three years because 90 percent of the other stores did not stock the rare and the increasingly more expensive insert cards. Over the next three years, most of the other stores closed their doors until there was only my store and two others. My store was now the biggest hockey card shop in the city, and I had three thousand regular customers a month.

PART VI: RETRIBUTION & REDEMPTION

Chapter 27: The Pain and Agony Start

In December 1999, I started having lower back pain. I took Advil for the pain. At first, two Advil twice daily worked okay. By January of 2000, it took four Advil four times daily to control the pain. The Advil did not take away all the pain, but it dulled it enough for me to continue working. By March 2000, my lower back pain increased greatly, so I headed to the local medical walk-in clinic. Never before had I ever needed a family doctor. There I was appointed Dr. Smith as my family doctor.

Dr. Smith put me on Tylenol 3 for the pain. At first, the Tylenol 3 took care of the pain, but with each passing day my lower back pain grew worse. By May 2000, the Tylenol 3 was not doing the trick, so I headed back to see Dr. Smith. He put me on Tylenol 4 and sent me to an orthopedic surgeon for x-rays. I filled my prescription and went to the orthopedic surgeon, who took x-rays and put me through exercises and stretches. The Tylenol 4 took the edge off the pain but that was all. It was not yet the middle of May, and I had a burden on my mind. My lease at the shop was up in September 2000, so I called my landlord to talk about extending my lease. I wanted some peace of mind as to where my company was going to be for the next four to five years. The landlord said he was not going to do anything until September because that was when the lease of the hot tub business next door was also up.

“That’s not good enough. I need to know where my business is going to be for the next four to five years.”

“That’s too bad. I’m not doing anything until September.”

“I’m not supposed to say anything, but the hot tub place is moving down a block as soon as their lease expires in September of this year.”

“I don’t care. I’m still not going to do anything until September.”

“That’s unacceptable. If we can’t work this out, then I am not going to stay here.”

“Well, I don’t want anyone here who does not want to be here, so when are you moving out?”

“You a—hole and slum lord. The roof here has leaked every year I’ve been here. I’ll be out as soon as I can find a place to reopen my business.” It took me just two weeks to find a place close so my customers would not have to go far.

The next week, I reported back to my doctor to find out what the orthopedic surgeon had to say. The orthopedic surgeon had found nothing wrong, and he couldn’t see anything wrong with the x-rays he had ordered. I told my doctor, “It is not the bones. It’s in the soft tissue and muscles.”

Dr. Smith sent me to a chiropractor. Four visits and three hundred dollars later, my back was not better. In fact, it was worse, and with each week it got even worse. I signed a lease for my new business location and hired contractors to fix up everything, including a storage room, office, new paint and carpets, and thirty-four new showcases, then I proceeded to move my inventory and old showcases into the new place.

•   •   •

It was now July 2000, and I could not bear the pain anymore. I returned to Dr. Smith and he put me on Percocet. Some of my clients told me to try acupuncture, so I tried that, but it didn’t work. I went to a masseuse three times. This helped a little, but at a hundred dollars a visit, I could not afford it and still the pain got worse and worse.

It was now August 2000, and I finally opened the doors to my new shop. All the regular customers started showing up. At first things were okay. I had to take six Percocet three times daily to control the pain, but just two weeks later the pain was twice as bad. I returned to my doctor to report how bad the pain was and explained that I had a business to run and could not take time off. Dr. Smith put me on thirty-milligram morphine pills but failed to inform me to take Gravol with this medication or it would make me sick to my stomach. He also gave me some muscle relaxants.

As soon as I took one of the morphine pills, I got sick to my stomach. I went right back to my doctor to tell him what had happened, and only then did the doctor prescribe Gravol. The pills helped me, but I had to take them five times a day to control the pain when I was at work. The doctor had told me not to take more than three pills per day. When I tried that I could only work five hours a day. After work, I would not take any more morphine for the pain so I would have some for work. I would take one pill when I woke up and would not take another until the pain got so bad I could not sit or stand, and only then would I take one more pill.

Then one day one of my regular customers came in. She told me about her chronic pain and the doctor she goes to. I called and made an appointment, went in, and told Dr. Grenewrick everything that had happened in the past ten months and what Dr. Smith had tried and what I had tried on my own. Dr. Grenewrick explained to me about his many patients with chronic pain. He put me on a time-release morphine pill called OxyContin, forty milligrams every six hours. This worked okay for the first two weeks.

The pain started getting worse and worse. I started missing days at work. The pain was so excruciating, I just could not get out of bed. Soon it was three or four days a week I missed; then five. It was now October 2000. I hired a return customer of mine, John, to run the shop when I was not there. John did not want money from me, just in-store credits, and I was very grateful for this.

By December 2000, I could barely make it into the shop once a week. Every time I came in, John would be sitting at a table sorting cards. He would not even get up to talk to me, and when I checked the till, there would only be about two thousand dollars for the week’s sales. When I was there, I would average three thousand dollars a day. Now, instead of twenty thousand dollars a week, it was two thousand dollars a week. This was not going to work, but I did not have my sharp instincts to rely on because of the morphine. By March, I had decided to close the business, as I was in such excruciating pain. Don’t ask me why, but I thought I was at the maximum dose of morphine allowed. Besides, every time the doctor increased my dosage, the next week the pain was even worse than when I was on a lower dose. I accepted the fact that I was going to have to go through this excruciating pain, probably for the rest of my life.

On April 27, 2001, my landlord handed me a letter saying he was going to seize my business inventory, so I hired a lawyer to deal with this landlord and his threats. My lawyer was a very good lawyer and had my landlord in court within three days of me hiring him. The landlord’s lawyer explained about how many days the shop had been closed in the past year and that this was against the lease. My lawyer explained my medical problems.

The judge had one question for my lawyer: “Is the rent paid?” My lawyer replied, “Yes, Your Honor.” The judge said, “The rent is paid. We are adjourned until you file another motion.” My lawyer called to give me the good news. I said, “Good job.”

I had a sign made explaining my medical condition and apologized for any inconvenience and affixed it to the front door for my customers to see. This made my landlord very mad, and he filed a new motion claiming I had no right to post such a sign as the lease stated any signage the landlord disapproved of must be taken down. The judge asked my lawyer what the sign said. When my lawyer told the judge, the judge said, “I see nothing wrong with the sign, and this clause in the lease is deemed null and void.”

The next week the landlord filed a new motion regarding the lease. My lawyer called to inquire, and I said, “Well then, get them to agree to cancel the lease and I’ll be out by the end of May.” My lawyer said, “Okay, I think I can get them to agree to that. I’ll call you after court.” The next day my lawyer called and told me that the lease had been cancelled and that I had until the end of May to move out.

I made arrangements to have everything from the shop moved to my home on May 29, 2001. I started packing things up the next day and put a bunch of stuff on close-out sale pricing. Every day when I went home, I took five or six boxes full of cards home with me, and if I was not in too much pain, I would go back for another load or two.

On May 27, 2001, when I closed up at 6:00 p.m., I took another six boxes full of cards home with me. I had some dinner, watched some TV, and at about midnight, I decided to go to the shop for another load or two. When I got to the shop, the lights were off and my office door was open. I had left the lights on and my office locked. Then I went to open the door, and the key would not turn. Right away I remembered the letter my landlord had given me on April 27, threatening to seize my shop and the inventory. I said, “Son of a bitch.” Then I got really mad. After a minute, I cooled down and called my lawyer and woke him up and told him what the landlord had done.

“He can’t do that.”

“I need a letter from you stating that he can’t do this and a copy of all the court documents. Can you meet me at your office?”

“It’s 1:00 a.m.”

“I’ll pay you.”

“Okay, twenty minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

So I hurried downtown to my lawyer’s office and waited for him. When he got there, I thanked him very much for coming down to do this and I gave him four hundred dollars. After I got the letter from my lawyer stating the landlord had no right to break in and seize the shop and the entire inventory, I hurried back to the shop before the landlord got back in to steal more of my inventory. I called the cops and a locksmith to meet me there.

As soon as the police officer got there, I showed him the letter from my lawyer and the court documents, which the officer never even looked at. I then told the officer how the landlord had broken into the shop and the office. All this officer had to say was, “If there is anything missing, let me know.”

The locksmith showed up shortly thereafter. I had him pick the lock and install a new one. After I paid him, I headed straight to my office to see what was missing, because every card in the office was worth lots of money, and there were over a hundred thousand cards in that office. I found my safe had been broken into. I stayed all night checking what was missing and packing up boxes of cards. I dared not leave because the landlord might show up and break in again.

The next morning, my lawyer called me. He had called the landlord’s lawyer and told him that my landlord had nothing filed with the court, so he had no right to anything in that business. At 10:30 a.m., I saw my landlord parked across from the shop, so I called the cops. You won’t believe this. The police station is in the same shopping mall as my shop, so my landlord was also the cops’ landlord. When the cops showed up, I went outside to talk to them. I told them the whole story about how the landlord had broken in and changed the locks and stolen fifty thousand dollars’ worth of cards last night. Then I pointed the landlord out to the cops so they could go and arrest him.

The cops went over to talk to him, but as you can guess, they never arrested him or anything. The cops came over and said that my landlord had thought he was in his right and that he had said he didn’t take any cards. I said, “I knew it. You would not do a thing to him, just because he owns the mall.” The cops said this was a civil matter and that I could sue him. I just said, “Thanks for nothing, guys,” went into my shop, loaded some cards into the car, set the alarm, locked the door, and went home to get some sleep.

When I woke up six hours later, I was in so much pain that I took some painkillers and went back to work loading up the car with cards to take them to a room in my basement. I planned to put some serious locks on so nobody would get into the room and steal my cards. After all, we’re talking about over two million dollars’ worth of sports cards and memorabilia.

About 8:00 p.m. on May 29, 2001, I locked up the shop and went home. I was in so much pain I could barely walk. When I got home, I took four painkillers and went to sleep. Two hours later, I woke up in so much pain that I took six more painkillers so I could get the sleep I needed to go to my shop and move most of my sports cards home to a safe place. When I woke up at 8:00 a.m. on May 30, 2011, I was in so much pain I took another six painkillers and went to the shop. One of my customers showed up. His name was Gord. He was a counsellor for the mentally challenged. To make a long story short, Gord, seeing me in so much pain and with only two days left to finish moving all of the cards and display cases, offered to help me move using the assistance of some of the mentally challenged young persons he worked with. I gladly accepted Gord’s offer. We set a time and Gord left to organize everything.

I was still in a lot of pain, so I filled the trunk with cards and headed for home. When I got home, I unloaded the car, put the cards in the garage, and went inside to sit and try to relax. I was in so much pain that I took a Gravol and in twenty minutes I took six painkillers and tried to get some sleep. I woke up three hours later and was in the same excruciating pain as before. I took more painkillers and fell back to sleep. Six hours later, about 3:00 a.m. on May 31, 2001, I took more painkillers and went to my shop to get everything ready for the big move. I had to take painkillers twice more before Gord showed up at 10:00 a.m. and twice more while the truck was being loaded. It took six hours to load the truck and two hours to unload. I paid Gord and the kids for helping out. When the truck was getting loaded, I saw Gord steal some cards and put them in his car. After everybody left, I took some painkillers and went to bed. I woke up about every three to four hours in severe pain. I took more pain meds and tried to sleep. This went on for days.

Chapter 28: Disabled by the Pain

I woke up at about 4:00 a.m. in severe pain. I took one Gravol and one painkiller and tried to go back to sleep. For the next twenty minutes, I tossed and turned trying to find a sleeping position with the least amount of pain while I waited for the painkiller to kick in, but no matter what way I tried, my pain remained the same. When the painkiller kicked in and eased my pain, I fell back to sleep. I got about two hours of sleep before my pain started to return and would not let me go back to sleep. I could only lay there as my pain grew stronger and stronger until it was unbearable and I had to get up.

I had a shower, put some clean clothes on, and made a pot of coffee. After a couple of cups of coffee I went out to get some food. I only bought food like canned soup, Kraft dinner, wieners, fruit, and lots of protein shakes and milk—all easy to make, as standing is very painful for me. When I got home I was in so much pain I just collapsed on the bed.

On June 4, 2001, I woke in severe pain as usual, and all I could do was to first take a Gravol, wait twenty minutes, and take two 30-milligram OxyContin painkillers and wait another thirty minutes for those to take effect.

I was getting worried about all the medication I was taking, so I decided to start keeping a diary in order to track my medication and the severity of the pain.

June 4, 2001

After lying in excruciating pain for three days, I checked the mailbox for mail but there was nothing, not even junk mail.

I took some pain meds and went to the nearest Rona to buy a four-inch foam mattress to put on my living room floor to see if it would ease my pain. Even 10 percent less pain and it would be worth it. I brought it home and placed it on the living room floor. Last night I slept on it and it was a little less painful than my bed, but only by about 5 percent.

June 6, 2001

I woke in pain of course. This afternoon I checked the mail but there was none. Not even junk mail.

June 9, 2001

I went out to shop for food—mostly bananas, milk, and protein shakes. When I got home I noticed some things had been moved. I looked all around the house, upstairs and down. It appears nothing is missing but only moved.

June 10, 2001

No matter what painkillers I take my pain gets worse as the days go by.

June 15, 2001

I went to Dr. Smith in severe pain. He is against giving me OxyContin in fear that I will become addicted to the medication, but I am in such pain that he prescribed thirty milligrams of OxyContin three times a day, and he is going to send me to another specialist. I filled the prescription, and it cost over $250, but for a couple of hours at a time it gave me some relief from pain. When I returned home, I found more of my stuff gone through and some stuff is stolen.

June 19, 2001

I have decided to liquidate some of my Beanie Babies stock, so I am going to call Dick’s Collectibles and set up an appointment to sell the Beanie Babies.

June 24, 2001

Dick came over today to negotiate the price on my stock. I decided to sell him all of my common Beanie Babies. I went through over 150 different Beanie Babies. We both agreed on a price of $10,500 for more than three thousand Beanie Babies, from $15 to $400. Dick gave me $6,000 cash and told me he will give me the other $4,500 on Friday when he picks up the rest of the Beanie Babies.

June 26, 2001

Dick showed up with the money and picked up the balance of the Beanie Babies.

June 27, 2001

I went to the closest police station and told them that someone is stealing my mail. The officer there put a witness statement form in front of me, didn’t say a word or even look at me, then walked away. When I finished filling out the form, the officer walked over and, without looking at me, put the witness statement on a pile of papers and walked away out of sight. I don’t know what’s up with that police officer, but it’s very clear no one is going to investigate my mail being stolen.

June 28, 2001

Today I went out to see a friend named Larry. Larry has a Collectibles Cart in Northmount Mall. I took a bunch of the common Beanie Babies that Dick didn’t buy from me. I asked Larry if he would like to sell them on consignment for me. Larry and I agreed on a price, so I went to my car and brought in about one hundred various Beanie Babies and told Larry I would come and see him in a week.

When I got home I found that someone had been in my house because two cases of Pokémon cards are missing, but there is no sign of break-in and the doors were still locked when I got home.

June 29, 2001

I have had the locks on the doors changed.

June 30, 2001

I went shopping and bought bananas, protein shakes, Joe Louis chocolate cakes, and milk. All things that take no time and energy to eat, because anything I do puts me in severe pain. Walking hurts, standing hurts, sitting hurts, even lying down hurts. Twenty-four hours a day I am in pain.

When I got home I checked the mailbox, but nothing—not even junk mail. What would anybody want with my mail? It’s probably all bills anyway. I reported it to the police, but for some reason they have decided to do nothing at all, not even call to see if my mail is still being stolen every day. Mail theft is a federal crime.

I then discovered that two more cases of Pokémon cards are missing, but there is no sign of a break-in and I had the locks changed two days ago, so how did someone get in here and steal two cases of Pokémon gaming cards, and why only take two cases when there are still over twenty cases upstairs and at least fifty more downstairs, not to mention the over half million hockey cards in the downstairs bedroom. Obviously someone is trying to steal a little bit at a time and hoping it’s not getting noticed.

July 8, 2001

I woke in pain of course, so I took a painkiller, showered, and put on some clean clothes. Then I loaded up the car with some Beanie Babies, made sure the house was locked up, and headed up to see Larry. I brought Larry another one hundred Beanie Babies, and Larry gave me some money for the Beanie Babies he had sold on consignment since the last time I was there. I asked Larry if he has any silver coins, Canadian pre-1961 as they are made of pure silver. He said he had lots, so I asked him how much he wanted for them. Larry replied, “Three times face value.” I told him I would take everything he had and would be back every week to pick up everything he got from now on. I took my silver and headed home.

When I got home, I found that someone had been in the house and at least two 3,000-count boxes of hockey cards have been stolen. I had a banana, protein shake, and a chocolate cake, then took a pain pill and now I’m going to lie down to get some sleep.

July 10, 2001

I’ve spent the last thirty hours lying on my foam mattress in the living room with the exception of a couple of bathroom breaks. At about 10:00 a.m., I woke up a little hungry, so I went to the fridge and got a protein shake. As I walked over to the garbage can to throw out the lid to the bottle, I looked out the kitchen window and saw my neighbor, Brian, who lives across the alley and one house down, breaking into my garage. I had watched him for about ten seconds when he looked up and saw me watching him. I saw him say “Oh s—t” with a guilty look on his face. Then he took off running out of my yard and across the alley, jumped over his fence, and ran into his house through the back door. Then I remembered that Brian owns his own locksmith business. It’s just a one-man operation, which gives him the freedom to come and go wherever he wants. I put two and two together: Brian’s the one who’s been going into my house and going through my stuff and stealing the cases of Pokémon cards, and who knows what else he has stolen. He can pick the locks, so there is no sign of a break-in.

July 11, 2001

Today I went to the same police station I went to when I reported my mail being stolen. This time there was a different police officer at the front counter. I told this officer what had been going on and about catching this neighbor red-handed. This officer asked me, “Did you see him go into your garage?” I said, “No, but he was picking the lock and he is a locksmith, and only a locksmith could have gotten into my house and stolen my Pokémon cards without leaving signs of a break-in.” The officer said, “Do you have any proof it was him? Did you see him come out of the house with your cards?” I said no. The officer said there was nothing they could do to help me.

What the hell are they good for?

July 12, 2001

Dr. Smith has sent me to two more specialists over the last month, but they can’t find anything wrong and can’t figure out where the pain is coming from. They can only talk about bones, discs, and other things that show up on an x-ray. They don’t talk about the soft tissues and nerves that do not show up on x-ray.

July 13, 2001

I woke at 2:00 a.m. in pain as usual but decided to save my pain meds for later. So for the next five hours I lay on my foam mattress in pain. Then I took a pain pill and tried to get some sleep. I woke up about noon, got ready, and put about one hundred Beanie Babies in the car and took them up to Larry. He gave me money for the Beanie Babies he had sold. Then I headed back towards home.

On the way up to the mall I had seen this forest green Jeep Wagoneer. When I left the mall I noticed the same jeep behind me when I stopped at a red light. The last set of lights before I got home turned yellow, so I stopped. Moments later, the jeep stopped three cars back in the curb lane. I don’t know why this jeep was following me. When I got home I looked around and found a few things out of place, but I can’t tell if anything is missing. I am in a lot of pain, so I am going to take a pain pill and lie down on my foam mattress in the living room and try to get some sleep.

July 15, 2001

Dr. Smith is out of options so he finally referred me to a chronic pain clinic. The fact is that Dr. Smith—and about 97 percent of the doctors in Canada—does not want to prescribe any pain medications stronger than Tylenol 3 because he is more concerned with the patient being addicted to the med than with the patient’s pain. People like me who are suffering severe pain have to face this discrimination against the stronger pain meds. I am in so much pain twenty-four hours a day that I can no longer sleep in my own bed and instead sleep on the living room floor where I have a piece of foam. I live on bananas and milk because I can’t stand to cook. Day by day my pain gets worse and worse.

I know the pain is coming from my muscles right at the belt line, three inches high by about twenty inches wide, from hip to hip. The only relief I have from the pain is to take a Gravol and twenty minutes later to take sixty milligrams of OxyContin and then wait another thirty minutes for the medications to take effect. Twenty percent of the pain will go away for about an hour and a half. I have this short time to get everything done that I need to get done for the whole day or the next week. Things like buy enough bananas and milk to last a week because Dr. Smith will only give me four 30-milligram OxyContin pills per day. This allows me to take one every six hours, and one 30-milligram OxyContin will only take away 20 percent of my pain for an hour and a half. After that, my pain will go back to 100 percent for the next four and a half hours. Then there is the fact that the longer you take the OxyContin the less well it works; so as the weeks go by, my body becomes immune to the medication.

It is very hard to express just how much pain I am in. Take a woman in childbirth for example. It would only take ten to thirty milligrams of OxyContin to take away 99 to 100 percent of her pain, depending on each different woman and her individual body. Anyway, this is how much pain I am in twenty-four hours a day. One of the other problems of being in so much pain is that it consumes my every thought. The pain is so bad I have to move every ten to fifteen seconds because the last way I was sitting or lying was way too painful to tolerate, and I cry out and swear. This is how much pain I suffer every second of every minute of every hour of every day.

July 17, 2001

For the last three days, all I did was wake up, eat bananas and Joe Louis chocolate cakes, drink milk, take my pain meds, and tried to sleep as much as I could.

This morning I woke up in pain as usual. I crawled over to the coffee table to help me get to my feet, went to the bathroom, then had a protein shake. Now I am going to lie back down.

July 19, 2001

I have been waking up every two to four hours and taking another pain pill to sleep some more.

I’ve started spending twenty-four hours a day in my recliner on my back, with my legs and feet up. Not being able to roll over or move very much at all is the best place for me to be twenty-four hours a day.

July 20, 2001

I went and saw Larry today. When I left, I put a padlock on the door. I drove to the end of my street and turned north for about two miles when I noticed a car that I have seen before. For the next five miles a different car followed me, but I think those people were just going the same way I was going so I paid no attention to it.

When I got to Northland Mall, Larry gave me a bunch of money and asked me, “Did you bring the Beanies with you?” I replied, “Yeah, I’ll go get them.” I found a shopping cart and filled it with about one hundred Beanie Babies and took them to Larry. I talked business with Larry for about ten minutes. Larry says to me, “I’ve got some silver for you. About six hundred dollars at face value.” I said I would take it.

I have been doing business with Larry for eight years now. I trust Larry implicitly. When I bring Larry Beanie Babies, I don’t keep track of how many I have given him or question him about how many he has sold or for how much, and when Larry gives me money, I don’t count it. For the last eight years, we have been giving each other the best deal that we possibly can. When I buy silver off Larry, I know that Larry is giving me the best price, and I know I would not get a better deal anywhere else in the whole country. Basically, I am trading Beanie Babies for silver. It’s a win—win situation for both of us.

On the way home, for about twenty minutes, I saw the same truck I saw on the way to see Larry, then the truck turned down a different street. I could really care less. The only thing on my mind is getting home to my recliner and trying to relax and rest. Making the trip to Larry and back was so exhausting. Being in such severe pain drains me of every ounce of energy.

July 22, 2001

It has now been forty-two days since I have had any mail at all. Who is stealing my mail and why? It’s almost all bills anyway.

I am consumed with severe chronic pain twenty-four hours a day. When you are in that much pain every second of every day, the only thing you can think about is how to be in less pain, even if it is just a little less. I’ve been trying to find a new doctor because Dr. Smith doesn’t even want me to take the pain meds that I am taking now, and I need a doctor that wants to at least ease my pain. I have gone from doctor to doctor asking if they could treat me with anything different.

I have seen twelve doctors. After hearing everything that I have gone through for the better part of two years, not one had better medications or treatments to offer. No one was willing to take me on as a patient.

I decided to go and see my pharmacist to see if he could recommend a doctor that cares enough about his or her patients to prescribe medication that works well to take away pain. My pharmacist recommended Dr. Patricia Jones, who is only ten minutes away from my house. I got the phone number and address from my pharmacist and then I asked her if she could recommend something to help me sleep. She told me to get Dr. Patricia Jones to prescribe Temazepam. I asked if she could write it down for me. She did and I thanked her very much for all the help she had given me.

When I got home I phoned Dr. Jones right away to make an appointment and got one for September 25. Then I took a pain pill and lay down and fell asleep twenty minutes later. It must seem that I sleep a lot to someone reading this, but it is amazing how much pain taxes the body. The body uses so much energy trying to fight the pain.

September 25, 2001

Over the last two days I would only slept for three to four hours before I would wake in pain again.

This morning I was up at 8:00 a.m., took a pain pill, waited twenty minutes for the medication to take effect then took a shower and put on clean clothes. After I ate a banana, drank a protein shake and a glass of milk, and washed some clothes, I checked for some mail. You guessed it—no mail, not even junk mail.

For the first time in over two months, I turned on the TV and watched a show until it was time to go for my doctor’s appointment. When I saw Dr. Patricia Jones, I told her of my severe chronic pain, all the different doctors and specialists I have seen, and every detail I can. Dr. Jones assured me she can help me with my pain and sleep. She had other patients with similar pain conditions. Not only did she take me on as a new patient, she had a new medication—a time-released medication.

“I’m prescribing you a time-released pain medication. I want you to take this every six hours and one Temazepam at bedtime. You know you need to take Gravol twice a day with this medication?”

I told her I did. Dr. Jones said, “Good, I’ll see you in three months’ time.” I took my prescription to my pharmacy and got it filled. I am taking my pain medication every six hours as my doctor told me.

Dr. Jones put me on an eighty-milligram OxyContin pill—which is a time-released version of the pill I have been on, thirty milligrams of Temazepam to help me get the sleep I needed, and twenty milligrams of Baclofen to help relax my muscles. I think I have finally found a doctor that understands my pain and who truly wants to help me.

September 26, 2001

My pain is about half as bad as it ever was. One good thing is the Temazepam helps me sleep eight hours at a time.

September 27, 2001

I woke up at 9:00 a.m., almost exactly eight hours after I went to bed. I took my pain medication, but it didn’t make a difference. My pain remains the same. At 12:30 p.m. I was in my bedroom. I’m not sure why, but something told me to pull back the curtains and look out the window.

So I pulled back the curtains about six inches and looked outside. I saw this kid about nineteen years old walk across the street from the house directly across from my house, and I watched him walk up to my front door. I heard him open my creaky mail box lid, then walk back over to his house. He had no mail in his hand, but that only means there was no mail in the mailbox to steal that day.

September 28, 2001

I woke up at 9:00 a.m. and took my pain pills. I do not know if this pain medication is helping or not because it is a time-released medication. There is no change when I take a pill. I only know that my pain is as bad as it ever has been. It is so hard to concentrate when one is in such severe chronic pain. It consumes my mind.

September 30, 2001

It’s hard to explain.

I have a high IQ, but with this severe chronic pain I can’t think about something for more than a few minutes at a time, then the pain takes over every brain cell so all I can think about is the pain. It consumes me. For some reason I think that the medication that Dr. Jones has put me on is the strongest pain medication that there is in the world. Ever since I started having this pain, with every day that goes by, my pain gets worse, no matter what pain medication the doctors have given me. I guess I have given up trying any other pain medication. I guess I have accepted the fact that I am going to be in this pain, maybe for the rest of my life. You would think someone in this much severe chronic pain might think about suicide, but that thought has never entered my mind.

November 17, 2001

I take my medication every six hours as prescribed by Dr. Jones. As before, my pain grows worse day by day. Today I sat in my recliner with my feet up and took my Temazepam medication to help me sleep. Twenty minutes later I fell asleep lying on my back. Six hours later I woke up and felt a bit better than I did when I had slept in my bed or lay on the foam on my living room floor.

December 15, 2001

It has been six months since I started spending every minute of every day in my recliner in my living room. My pain levelled out ten days ago. It is now still three to four times worse than it was just three months earlier, but it has levelled out as a severe, severe chronic pain. That I could only rate as the worst chronic pain that anyone has ever gone through, ever in the history of mankind. Day after day, week after week, month after month, the pain has stayed as a severe, severe chronic pain. I have come to the conclusion that I am going to have this pain for the rest of my life and there is nothing anybody can do about it.

February 10, 2002

I called the local crisis association to come out to my house, as I was so overcome with depression and chronic pain that I needed to talk to someone. A lady and a man came to listen to me and my problems. They were nice and just listened to me talk about my problems before they made any comments. I told them about my chronic pain and about having to live in my recliner. I told them how much disability was paying me and how much I had to pay for my mortgage, property taxes, gas, and electricity. I explained that I had to live on bananas and milk because there was no money left after I paid the bills to buy anything else. The crisis association people listened to me very carefully about every detail and problem I was going through. They consoled me about my problems. They talked among themselves and told me that they could not do anything for me right then as it was after midnight on a Monday night, but they would see what they could do for me Tuesday morning and would return to see me Tuesday night if that was a good time for me. I am so grateful.

February 11, 2002, 8:00 p.m.

The man and lady from the crisis unit came to see me again. They came in and sat down and very calmly asked how I was feeling tonight. I told them I was in a lot of pain. They then told me they had some good news for me. They had gone to Meals-on-Wheels and told them about my problems, and they had said they would love to help me. They are going to bring two meals a day at no cost to me. I told them that would be a big help to me because I can’t afford to pay for food and because I can’t even stand to cook even if I could afford food. I thanked them and asked them to please thank Meals-on-Wheels for me. The man said they would do that for me.

Me and the man and woman talked a bit more. They asked me if they could come back and check on me to see how I was doing. I said that would be nice and thanked them both for lending an ear and letting me talk to them about my problems. I had no one I could talk to, and it was nice just to talk to someone. They gave me their card so I could call if I needed more help and then left so I could get some rest. I returned to my recliner, took some pain medication and some Temazepam, and tried to get some sleep.

February 12, 2002

I woke up in severe pain at 4:00 a.m. I took my pain medication, since it had been seven hours since I took my last dose, which I am supposed to take every six hours. About twenty minutes later, I made myself some coffee and lit a smoke and tried to relax for just a minute. I turned on the TV to the National Geographic channel. I like to watch the nature shows they have on that channel—that and the Discovery channel are my favorites. I like to learn new things. If I can do nothing more than sit in a recliner and watch TV and suffer in severe chronic pain, I am at least going to learn while I do it. I watched TV, drank my coffee, and had a smoke every now and then. Most of the day it is impossible for me to enjoy anything, being in such severe pain. I have succumbed to the fact that I am going to have this severe chronic pain for the rest of my life. The only thing I can do is take the medication Dr. Jones has prescribed, which really does nothing for the pain at all. The one good thing is my sleeping medication (Temazepam). It is a very good sleeping medication. I usually manage to get between six and eight hours of sleep at night, but for the rest of the day I still have to suffer in severe, severe chronic pain. The only thing I can do to make my life a little better is to spend every second of every day in my recliner, awake and asleep.

March 15, 2002

At least once a week I try to get out to get milk and some bananas and get whatever done that I can before the pain becomes so excruciating I can no longer bear it. The once-a-week trip out of the house for an hour or two to try get something done increases my pain so much that it drains every ounce of energy from my body. When I get to my recliner I just collapse.

April 4, 2002

I called my sister to wish her a happy birthday. She said she could hear the pain in my voice even over the phone. We made some small talk, but I knew just what she was going through. Our relationship is up and down. I have thought highly of her all my life. On the other side, Trudy sometimes has only good things to say about me and at other times she has only bad things to say.

May 19, 2002

My pain has remained at a constant though still severe level for months now. The only time it increases is when I get up out of my chair. Then my pain increases steadily every minute until I return to my recliner.

February 2, 2003

It’s been a year since Meals-on-Wheels started bringing me meals for free. They sent me a letter with my lunch. The letter said that they could no longer supply me with free meals but that they could supply me with meals for $50/month, which is $100 off their nominal price of $150/month. This is a great deal. Unfortunately, I still can’t afford to pay even $50/month, so I have no choice but to go back to living on bananas. I am only receiving $644 per month to live on from disability. My disability is just not enough to cover everything.

April 10, 2003

My pain remains at a very severe level. I am now living off milk and bananas. I can live off two glasses of milk and two bananas a day. I go to my doctor every three months to get prescriptions refilled. Other than my medication, I receive no other medical treatments.

July 20, 2003

My pain is still at its constant severe level, and all I can do is take my medication and stay off my feet by sitting and sleeping in my recliner as much as possible.

December 20, 2003

My old girlfriend Laura rang my doorbell. When I answered my door I was glad to see her. When I looked at her I could see a woman who desperately wanted to be with me. I invited her in and gave her a big hug. She came in, took her coat off, and sat on the couch while I sat in my recliner. Laura was dressed very sexy and had her makeup on and her hair done. She made it clear she had done all this to show me she wanted to get back with me as my girlfriend. I offered Laura a drink and she was very receptive to it. We talked for a while and caught up on things in each other’s lives. One thing led to another and we were soon making love in my bedroom. After we made love, we cuddled on the couch and listened to music. Laura showed her concern for my pain and massaged me. Then we moved to the recliner and I asked Laura to hold me as I fell asleep in her arms. Laura maneuvered her body so her back was against the back of the recliner and she could hold me against her chest and put her arms around me and hold me as I went to sleep. For two hours Laura held me lovingly in her arms, thinking not about herself but of me. I awoke in her arms and never in my life did I ever feel more loved than I did at that moment. That was really the one and only time I ever felt loved in my entire life.

We cuddled and talked for the next couple of hours before we both fell asleep together in each other’s arms. Both of us slept through the night in my recliner. Sometime before I woke, Laura had decided that I could not keep her in the style that she was used to. So after I awoke she called a cab and kissed me goodbye. I once again was left alone to suffer in pain.

December 24, 2003

I have decided to stay up and watch Christmas movies until midnight to see Christmas Day arrive. For the third year in a row, I will be spending Christmas Day alone and in severe pain. By now I am used to being alone and in severe pain. When you’re disabled in any way, people have no time for you; you’re just too needy for people to handle so they just stay away. They make any excuse they can come up with to be too busy to get involved with you.

December 25, 2003, 10:00 a.m.

My sister Trudy called to wish me a Merry Christmas. Then she asked how I was doing. She does not like my medication; as a matter of fact, she is very prejudiced against my pain medication, and I can hear this in her voice.

December 31, 2003

I’m going to stay up until midnight to see in the New Year. Unfortunately, this will be the fourth year in a row that I have had to enter the New Year all alone. But I totally understand. Nobody wants to be with someone who can only sit in a recliner and can’t even come up with any kind of pleasant conversation because they are overcome with very severe chronic pain. So yes, I totally understand.

Chapter 29: Stephanie

In March 2004, I hired a lawyer to find Stephanie and Richie even though I couldn’t really afford it. They both needed to know the truth about their mother taking them and moving away. They needed to know that even though I made every child support payment, their mother never let me see them, call them, or even send them letters. Their mother never let me know where they lived, or even what city they lived in.

Stephanie was now eighteen years old and Richie was now seventeen years old. I only had one year left to pay child support for Richie, and since I no longer had to pay for Stephanie, I decided to have my lawyer apply for a reduction in child support. This would force Wendy and the children to show up at court so I could see my children and tell them the truth about me and their mother. Wendy showed up on court day to set a date for the trial. She did only one thing. Hang her head. She could not look me in the face because she knew she had kidnapped my kids in 1993 when they were only six and seven years old. God only knows what she told them about me. The trial date was set for June 21, 2005.

Two nights later I was watching TV at about 8:00 p.m. when the doorbell rang. When I opened the door, I saw two young girls standing on my doorstep. The girl on the left asked me if I knew the girl on the right. I paused and studied the face of the girl on the right. It took a couple of seconds and I was still a little unsure but then it hit me.

Stephanie! I hugged her but she did not hug me back. She was very blunt.

“Why do you want to be part of our lives after all these years. You abandoned us eleven years ago.”

I said, “Oh, Stephanie, I didn’t abandon you. I love you and Richie. Your mother took you and Richie and moved away. I had no way to find you, and I couldn’t afford to pay lawyers to try and find you. It would take a long time to tell you the truth of what went on and what happened.”

Then Stephanie said, “My mother said you didn’t want to see us and didn’t want to be our father anymore.”

I said, “Oh, Stephanie, your mother brainwashed you. Of course I wanted to see you and Richie and continue to be your daddy, the same as I was right up until you were seven years old. You should remember, especially the last two visits we had together. You were old enough.”

Then Stephanie’s friend told Stephanie, “You should listen to him. Maybe your mother did brainwash you like I was by my mother and stepfather.”

But Stephanie said, “Why should I believe you over the people who have loved me all my life.”

I said, “Oh Stephanie, I can’t tell you in five minutes what happened over three years, it would take hours and days to go over everything, and your mother has been feeding you lies for eleven years. No one could just take in the truth and understand why your mother or anybody else would do things for their own purpose.”

Stephanie was so confused. Who should she believe? Her mother, who’d been with her all her life, or her real father, who was now suddenly back in her life? I told Stephanie, “Look, at least now you know where I live and this is my phone number. You can call me anytime or come over anytime and see me. I love you and Richie and I always have, and you can tell Richie the same thing. He can call me or come over anytime he wants, okay?”

Stephanie replied, “I don’t know about Richie, if he wants you back in his life or not. But I’m going to have to think about things.”

I said, “I understand. Listen to your friend. She sounds like she knows something about this, but always know you can call me or come over, and I promise I will always tell you the truth about everything, no matter what. Okay? I love you.”

Then Stephanie and her friend left.

“Oh my God,” I thought. “How am I going to undo eleven years of brainwashing, especially when Stephanie is still living at home with her mother. This is going to be hard, but at least I got to see my daughter. That’s a start, and all I can do is tell her the truth about everything and trust in the truth and God to get through to her. I just have to trust in that.”

The next day Stephanie called me and said, “My mother said what you said wasn’t true.” I told Stephanie, “Look, I can tell you the truth, but like I told you last night, I can’t tell you everything you need to know in a few minutes and not over the phone. You have to look into my face and eyes and then you will know what I’m telling you is the truth, so take some time. When you’re ready, come and see me and I swear I will tell you the truth about everything. I promise.”

Stephanie said she had to think. Poor Stephanie—she was so confused. On one hand, her mother had been brainwashing her with lies for eleven years, mostly so that the kids would accept her new husband as their father. Without me around to tell them the truth there was nothing for their confused little hearts and minds to do but to accept this lie.

Every time I thought of this I got so hurt and I felt like I was being torn in half. My poor little children and their little hearts were so broken by these lies their mother had shoved down their throats. I couldn’t imagine how it must have hurt them. Their daddy had loved them so much all their lives, and they had loved their daddy so much their whole lives. It would surely have changed them, especially at six and seven years of age. Their whole personality and outlook on life and people would have changed so much. It was hard to imagine a woman so scorned and wanting to hurt her ex-husband so much that she would damage the hearts and minds of her own little children. The evil and hatred that this woman had toward me was unimaginable. How such evil and hatred could live in a woman to permanently damage her own children in such way was inconceivable.

When Stephanie called me a couple of weeks later and asked me to go to family counselling with her, I told her I would have my lawyer set something up.

Obviously Stephanie had thought long and hard about her real daddy and what I had told her. Something had gotten through to her and she wanted to know more. When Stephanie was little, from the time she was born, she really was Daddy’s little girl. Both she and Richie were so well behaved. I can say with certainty I had never heard Stephanie or Richie cry. Not even on the day they were born. Neither of them cried at all. Not a peep. When Stephanie was born, the nurse cleaned her up and handed her to me, not her mom, and for the first twenty minutes of Stephanie’s life it was Daddy’s loving arms that held her and Daddy’s voice that was so calming to her heart and mind.

With Richie, it was the same. He never cried since the second he was born. It was me who cut the umbilical cord, and it was me the nurse handed Richie to once she had cleaned him. It was Daddy’s arms that held Richie lovingly and Daddy’s voice that calmed Richie’s mind and heart the first minutes of his young life.

Don’t they always give the mother the newborn child?

•   •   •

On June 15, 2005, I got to see my little girl for the second time in eleven years.

Our counsellor, Mr. Jordan, took us to a room with six plain office chairs and a lot of toys lying all over the room. There wasn’t even a table for us to sit at, so I felt awkward and very vulnerable. It was not what I would call a calming or relaxing atmosphere. Mr. Jordan said, “Who wants to start?” Stephanie spoke first and said, “I’m not sure what I am supposed to feel.” I said, “All I can do is tell you the truth, the whole truth about everything.”

This Mr. Jordan didn’t say hardly anything. He never even looked at us. He just kept writing down stuff on his notepad. He didn’t make us feel at ease or anything, so I told Stephanie all about what led to her mother and I getting separated.

Stephanie refused to believe me. Poor Stephanie. How am I going to get her to believe the truth when it’s probably going to be the opposite of what her mom has told her all her life?

When Stephanie and I went back to see the family counsellor again, Mr. Jordan handed us a questionnaire to fill out. How lame. Anyway, we went in and I had to tell Stephanie the truth because I could never live a lie. I could never just say forget about the past, no wrongs were committed. Lies were told, my children were kidnapped. I explained again how her mother refused to go outside and stopped taking care of herself. I explained how I had moved out to force her mother to do something.

On our third family counselling session, I told Stephanie about how I went over every week to visit her and Richie and see how their mother was doing. I explained that when their mother started dating, I took her and Richie to live with me.

On our fourth family counselling session, I asked Stephanie if she understood the truth now, but Stephanie said, “My mom says everything you’re saying isn’t true.” I told Stephanie, “You know it’s the truth. You have seen it in my eyes and my face. I know you remember some things from when you were six and seven years old. If you are not willing to accept the truth, then this is useless. When you’re willing to accept the truth, then call me, because I will not live with even one lie. I will not create a father—daughter relationship based on lies. When you’re ready, call me. I’ll be waiting.”

I had to believe that Stephanie knew that what I had told her was the truth but that she could not accept it. Because if she accepted it, that would mean that for the last eleven years her own mother had lied and brainwashed and betrayed her and her brother. Stephanie knew the truth but chose to live a lie.

My only hope was that when my kids were grown up they would seek me out. Especially Stephanie, after she and her friends saw 90 percent of marriages end in divorce and saw what people who choose to hate, seek revenge, and be evil are really capable of.

I have mostly enjoyed the summer. At least I was not in severe chronic pain. I still have some aches and pain, but 90 percent of the time I am pain free.

Chapter 29: Resurrection

About 10:00 p.m., I was overcome with the urge to pray to God. I did not want to ask God to take away my pain. That thought was the farthest thing from my mind. I prayed to God to use me to do God’s will. I could not be more sincere. It was just like when I was nineteen years old and in jail, and I started praying to God. I could feel God connected to my brain and soul.

I woke in the morning as usual in severe chronic pain. I took my morning medication and as usual struggled through the day. When bedtime came close, I felt the need to pray to God. “Please God, use me to do thy will; please use me to do thy will.” Over and over I prayed to God. I prayed for ten minutes then took my bedtime meds and went to sleep.

I have been feeling the need to pray to God a little longer each night. I become overwhelmed with the urge to pray to God, for him to use me to do his will. I pray with such emotion and conviction and sincerity, with every ounce of my being I pray and pray. Night after night I pray to God to use me to do his will.

When I prayed to God, I prayed with all my soul, with all my heart, with all my mind, and with every ounce of my being. I prayed with more sincerity than I ever had before in my whole life. It was at this time that God connected with my brain and soul. It’s very hard to describe the feeling, but I’ll try.

From the bottom of my forehead all the way to the back of my skull and from ear to ear, there was a “force field” as I came to think of it, penetrating into my brain about three quarters of an inch deep, and it felt like it extended about three quarters of an inch all around the outside of my skull, encompassing my entire brain.

The feeling started with the first word I prayed to God and remained constant the entire time I prayed. Only when I stopped praying and opened my eyes would it stop. It did not matter if I prayed for ten minutes or thirty minutes, the physical feeling would stay the whole time that I prayed to God.

I continued to pray to God each night before I went to sleep. Now I was praying for about twenty minutes each night, and it was always the same prayer: “God, use me to do your will. God, please use me to do your will,” over and over the same words. Each night I would pray with all my soul, all my mind, all my heart and with every ounce of my being.

After I finished praying, I took my bedtime meds and went to sleep. I took my pain meds, but these only reduced the pain by about 10 percent and only for a short period of time. I really should have been in the hospital for the past four years, but for some reason that thought never entered my mind.

The same as I never thought even for one second about asking God to take away my pain. I accepted it as fate, as something I had to go through, so day after day I would suffer in severe pain, and night after night I would pray to God.

After about ten nights of praying for about twenty minutes each night, the connection with God, or the force field, grew stronger. Now it felt more intense and it grew to about one and a quarter inches all around the outside of my head.

I continued to pray to God each and every night, for twenty to thirty minutes each night—praying for God to use me to do his will. After another ten nights of praying, the force field connection with God extended two inches outside my brain and it felt even stronger and more intense in my brain.

After ten more nights of prayer, the force field now extended three inches outside my brain and what I felt was very extreme. I always laid back in my recliner when praying, and now the honesty and heart-felt emotion and sincerity, along with the intense feeling of the connection with God, caused tears to pour steadily out of the corners of my eyes. The tears just flowed steadily the whole time that I was praying now.

After ten more nights of prayer the force field extended four inches around the outside of my brain and felt even more intense inside my brain. I kept asking and pleading with God to use me to do his will, over and over and with more and more sincerity and honesty and heart-felt emotion. I continued to pray this way for another fifteen days, only this time the force field maintained its strength, penetrating one inch into my brain, and maintained its intense connection.

Then the next night I started praying the same prayer—“Please God, use me to do your will”—and after about ten minutes of praying that way I decided to change my prayer. Now I prayed to God, “Please, God, make me an apostle; please, God make me an apostle.” I prayed like this for about twenty minutes. For the next two weeks, I prayed for God to make me an apostle, and for those two weeks, the force field remained very strong, penetrating one inch into my brain and extending outside my brain by four inches all around and with the same intensity as before when I was asking God to use me to do his will.

So I had now been praying to God for a total of seventy nights in a row, with each prayer being twenty to thirty minutes long. That night I took my sleeping meds about midnight and soon fell asleep. This was to be a very special night’s sleep for me. Soon I started to have a very vivid dream about God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, and me. The dream went as follows:

I found myself sitting at a three-foot-by-three-foot table in the corner of a very large white room. God was sitting to my right. He appeared to me as a good-looking elderly gentleman with shoulder-length white hair and a white beard. Sitting to the left of me was the Holy Spirit. He appeared to me as a white glowing mass in the shape of a man. God, the Holy Spirit, and I were all waiting for Jesus Christ to join us, because we were all going to do something together. I started to look around the room. All around the room were white walls, and on those walls were life-size paintings of Jesus from the waist up, starting on the left side of the north wall and continuing around the room to the east wall and then to the south wall.

All the paintings were of Jesus at different times in his life, starting with his early life and continuing throughout his life. I studied each painting from start to finish, but when I got to the last painting, I realized it was not a painting—Jesus was alive and moving in the last one. Jesus was busy doing something, then Jesus joined God, the Holy Spirit, and me at the table and gave his approval for what it was that we all were going to do together. Then the dream ended.

When I woke up I remembered every single detail of the dream, and will remember every single detail of the dream for as long as I live.

It was about one month after the dream that my severe, severe pain ended and I was 100 percent pain-free. I started going for long walks, and as I walked I would read the New Testament Bible. After walking for about two hours a day for two months, I finished reading The New Testament.

One day about a month later, I told someone a lie, which is a sin, and as soon as I told the lie, God returned pain to my lower back. It was only about 3 percent of the severe, severe pain that I had suffered for almost four years, but it was pain all the same, and it lasted for about fifteen minutes. God was letting me know not to sin or I would pay for each and every sin with pain.

It was very clear to me that the severe, severe pain that I suffered for almost four years came from God, but what the exact reason was that I had to suffer that pain for that long, well, only God knows that for sure.

One morning about a month later, I was in the shower and I had a thought about stealing something. Well, right away I felt a sharp pain in my lower back that lasted about ten minutes. It was very clear to me now that if I sinned or even thought about sinning, God was going to punish me right away to pay for the sin.

I decided to rent out a room in my house to help pay the bills and so I could afford to eat something different than bananas and milk. I put an ad in the local paper, and one day later a guy phoned and came over to see the place. He seemed like a good guy, so I rented the room to him. John was his name. After two weeks, I woke up one morning at 6:00 a.m. to go to the bathroom. I sat on the toilet, but I left the bathroom door open two inches, just enough to see out. About thirty seconds later, John came out of his bedroom followed by this other guy. Right away I knew they’d had homosexual sex in my home during the night. I remembered what the Bible had said about homosexuality. This made me very upset. I showered, got dressed, and took some things, like a tape recorder, my cheque book, some paper, and some envelopes. I put a padlock on the front door so no one could get in, then I left.

I felt there was too much evil in the world, and I just wanted to be with God and Jesus. I think it was November 9, 2005. I started to put my things in order. I recorded a will on cassette tape. I wrote cheques to my sister to cover the funeral, among other things.

Then I went to a hardware store to buy exhaust tubing, about fifteen feet to reach from my car’s tailpipe to the driver’s window. It started getting late, so I bought some cassette tapes at the mall. I was parked in the underground garage. As I was recording my final words to my family, I started getting some strange looks from people walking by, so I decided to go somewhere else to finish my recordings. After I finished the recordings and mailed them with all the money I had, I started to look for a good spot in the industrial area to park where no one would find me for three days. I would think I had found a good spot, then a car or semi would drive by and I would have to find a better spot. Then I finally found the perfect spot on a closed-off street between these two semitrailers. I parked there and hooked up the exhaust hose to run into the car. It was almost 11:00 p.m. I made sure the windows were up and there were no leaks.

I started the car and took the sleeping pills I had with me. Within five minutes I was fast asleep, and by midnight I would have died from the carbon monoxide.

But the next thing I knew was that I was in the emergency room of a hospital and there were at least six doctors and nurses working on me. It turns out that some guy was walking by my car at about 6:30 a.m. the next day. The car was still running, pumping carbon monoxide into the car for over seven hours. Needless to say, I had been dead for at least six hours.

The passerby had called 911 and about twenty minutes later an ambulance showed up and the paramedics started the clock on their life-saving efforts. They loaded me into the ambulance and did what they could en route to the emergency ward of the hospital. On arrival, a whole team of doctors and nurses took over the life-saving efforts. I don’t know what all they did, but nothing worked. One hour went by—nothing. Then a second hour, and still nothing. After three hours, all of a sudden my heart started beating.

I came to but was groggy, and a nurse injected a really huge needle full of liquid charcoal into my vein. It hurt like hell, and twenty seconds later I had to really go number two. They pushed me in a potty chair. You see, the liquid charcoal absorbs the poison from all the carbon monoxide and forces it out of the body. I don’t remember how may huge needles of that stuff they shot into my veins. Then I heard the doctor talking to my sister. The doctors explained to my sister that they don’t usually bring people back after they have been dead over three hours—there’s just too much brain damage—but it was up to her. Trudy said to bring me back. Then Trudy came over to me and said hi. After that, the nurse came over to knock me out so that they could work on me until they had done all they could.

The hospital emergency ward took credit for bringing me back from the dead, claiming it was over three hours that they had worked on me.

But I tell you the truth: God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit restarted my heart. I had been dead for over ten hours, but this was not all they were going to do to me. You’ll find out soon. The next day, they had me in the psych ward, and there were at least twenty reporters trying to get in to talk to me.

When I woke up later that day, I was in a high-security observation room with at least ten to fifteen cameras.

When I woke up, a nurse came in and gave me a sip of apple juice. I felt very, very weak, and I did not have one clear thought in my head. In fact, I felt like a mongoloid, not even capable of putting a five-word sentence together.

God and Jesus wanted the world to stand up and see that when God and Jesus choose to, they could and would resurrect the dead back to life. This was the first time since Lazarus that God and Jesus had chosen to resurrect someone.

I lay on this lousy rubber mattress for about an hour, then I had to go to the bathroom. I went to get out of bed and fell on the floor. I could barely get up, so my knees were together as I stumbled my way to the toilet and then back to my bed.

I could only lie on this super lumpy mattress awake, because no matter how I tried, I could not sleep and my body ached all over.

After lying there twelve more hours, I had to go to the bathroom again. This time my legs worked about 15 percent better than before. The nurses kept bringing me juice boxes. I was not hungry any more. I lay there for the next twelve hours staring out the window. When morning came, I felt I had about 15 percent more energy, so I got up, and my legs were working about 15 percent better. Anyway, I decided to have a hot shower and wash my hair. After drying off, I put on some clean hospital clothes and sat on my bed.

After thirty minutes, I tried to walk. I could, but I could only take baby steps. I could not bend my knees and I could only lift one foot at a time, half an inch off the floor and one inch forward. I did not know why God and Jesus made me walk this way, but their reason would become very clear to me at a later date.

My first walk was thirty feet down the hall then back to my room to lie in bed.

I lay in my lumpy bed tossing and turning. I was wide awake, but my body was still very weak and my brain was that of a mongoloid, no intelligent thought at all, so I would just stare out the window for twelve hours at a time.

After twelve hours I had to go to the bathroom. About two hours before that a nurse had gone into my bathroom but only for about thirty seconds. When I went to the bathroom, I heard one of the nurses say I have a nice bum. After I finished and went back to bed, the same nurse came in and retrieved the tiny camera she had put in the toilet, not for some sick reason but more than likely to see if my stools were healthy.

I lay in bed and drank juice for about the next twelve hours, then I got up, had a shower, and put clean clothes on. After that, I went for a short walk, about fifty feet down the hall and back. I was still very weak. About three patients made comments that I smelled very bad, and one female nurse asked another nurse why I smelled so bad even though I showered every day. Then the one male nurse explained that my body had absorbed so much carbon monoxide that it was taking days for my body to expel the carbon monoxide through the pores in my skin. It’s the only way for the body to get rid of the poison.

I listened but did not say a word and went back to my room to lie down. A nurse brought me some new juice. She told me I could go watch TV if I wanted. I replied I thought I would wait until I smelled better, and then I lay down for another twelve hours trying to sleep, but with that lumpy mattress and the lights on twenty-four hours a day, I could only lie there wide awake.

After lying there now thirty-six hours, I decided to lie there twelve more, then I got up, and I had about 15 percent more energy, so I went and had my third shower, put on clean clothes, and went for a walk. I walked about sixty feet down the hall and came back. This time no one said I smelled bad at all. My body had pushed all the poison out through my pores.

•   •   •

Outside my room on the wall was a small mirror. God and Jesus made me look in the mirror. They wanted me to see myself. I looked and I saw that the whole left side of my face was severely caved in from my chin to my hair line and from the centre of my nose to my left ear. My left eye was severely cross-eyed, and I saw how ugly I was.

Not only that, I could feel my severely damaged brain. I felt like a mongoloid.

God and Jesus wanted me to see and feel what I had done to myself by being dead for over ten hours.

I went to my room and lay down on my bed facing the window. Within half an hour I fell asleep, or should I say God and Jesus put me to sleep to perform one more miracle. It was at this time God and Jesus healed all the damage to my body and brain. They healed the caved-in left side of my face and fixed my one crossed eye, and they repaired all the brain damage that had been done while I was dead. They restored me to the exact point before I got in the car to kill myself. But there was one thing they did not repair. When I woke up I felt totally normal—happy, alert, and confident, so I sat up in my bed. When I stood and went to walk, I could still only lift each foot half an inch up and move forward one inch at a time. God and Jesus had a very good reason for this.

You will find out this reason soon.

I went and had a nice hot shower and washed my hair and the rest of my body. I came out from the shower, towel dried myself off, and put on clean clothes. I went into the bathroom, and for the first time in four days looked in the bathroom mirror. My face was totally normal, except I needed a shave, so I combed my hair and made my way, taking baby steps, to the nurse’s station and asked for a razor and some shaving cream. The male nurse gave me the razor and cream and watched me return to my bathroom to shave. I shaved and returned the razor and cream to the nurse. I took one more look in the mirror and smiled, as I looked good. I then took a walk around the whole ward. There was a courtyard where the patients could go for a smoke, so I stopped and bummed a smoke from someone. I then went to use the phone to call my sister to see if she could buy me some sweats, socks, underwear, and shirts with the money I had sent her in the mail before I died, and she said she would buy the clothes and be up later. I asked for some smokes and sports drinks, too, before she hung up the phone.

I went back to my room and lay down until supper was served. When supper came, everyone on the unit hurried to get it while it was hot. I took one bite and spit it out, the same as I had for the last three and a half days. I put my tray on the rack and went to my room. I heard the nurses talking at their station, which was straight across from my room. They said, “He has to eat something.” Every meal from that point on, there was a can of Ensure on my tray, so I drank that every meal. Every now and then I would take a long walk, using baby steps, down the hall to have a smoke and then go back to my room.

God and Jesus kept me awake and alert every second I was on that ward, except when they healed me.

The fifth morning came, and at 11:00 a.m. they took me to see the psychiatrist. I answered all the doctor’s questions truthfully and told him I no longer wanted to kill myself and I was feeling much better now.

After seeing the doctor, I went for a smoke. Thirty minutes later my sister showed up with new clothes and smokes. We talked for a few minutes, then she asked what else I wanted her to bring next time. I told her and said I would see her tomorrow.

When God and Jesus resurrected me, they restored my body and brain to the condition it was in just before I died. I still had all the scars I had before I was resurrected. They also restored all my memory, personality, and even my soul.

When you pray to God or Jesus it matters a great deal how you pray. You must be sincere, because God and Jesus only take the most sincere prayers seriously. God and Jesus know everything about you since you were conceived. That’s why you should do as much good in your life as you can.

After my sister left, I went for a smoke and of course to repay the smokes that I borrowed. I walked around a bit, but still only with little baby steps, then I sat in the TV area and talked to one lady that was there watching TV. There really was nothing to do on the ward.

God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit wanted me looking crippled, but they also wanted me awake and alert. God and Jesus had their reasons for wanting me that way—those you will find out soon enough.

Supper came and I tried to eat, but the food was so bad I just had the Ensure they gave me, then went to my room and lay down. After two hours, I got up and went for a smoke. It was November and cold outside when I went for a smoke. After that I went to the TV area and talked a lot to two ladies who were there. One of them even came on to me. I just smiled the same as I had done all my life when women have come up to me and hit on me.

God and Jesus made sure I did not suffer any side effects from being off the OxyContin.

I think this was the sixth day and night I had been here. Anyway, it was 11:00 p.m. and bedtime around here, so I tried for two hours to sleep, but I was wide awake and alert. Finally, I gave up and went for a smoke. Morning came, and everyone woke and had breakfast, except me—I just had Ensure. The next five days all went by the same as the day before. Then I bumped into a guy I had once been in a fight with and had beat. Then this guy says, “Where are you going to walk?”

Then all of a sudden God took control of my mouth with the Holy Spirit, and I said, “I’m going to walk ten thousand miles,” and then I had control of my voice again.

On day twelve, I found two egg salad sandwiches in the fridge, so I ate them. They were so good. So every day I would wait until the noon lunch would come, I would give away my lunch, and then I would go eat the sandwiches in the fridge.

They moved me to this other room with a glass wall. It was 11:00 p.m. and I was lying in bed. The next thing I knew, I woke up on my back, all nicely tucked in a warm bed in a different room. Five minutes later a nurse came in and said, “You gave us a scare there.”

Ten minutes later, I had this weird dream. I was awake for this dream, and it played out like a 3D movie one inch off the end of my bed. The movie went on for what seemed like thirty minutes. Then I lay there for the next five hours. It was clear—they must have given me something that drugged me.

The next day I had a meeting with the psychiatrist and told him I wanted to go home because I hadn’t slept one minute in thirteen days. The psychiatrist agreed and said I could go home the next day.

Later that day I was sitting in the TV area and two guys went by and said, “He looks a lot better than the last guy they took out of here!”

I went to bed but same thing for the fourteenth day. I could not sleep. When 7:00 a.m. came, I was up and packing to leave.

The whole fourteen days God and Jesus had kept me awake, alert, and calm.

At 11:00 a.m. my sister showed up to take me home. I thanked the nurses, then me and my sister took my things. We did not get ten feet down the hall when my sister said, “Is that as fast as you can walk?” I said yes. Inch by inch I walked. My sister kept walking about six feet in front of me, hoping that would make me walk faster. It did take a long time to walk down that hall. I bought my sister lunch at the drive-through.

My sister pulled up to my house and I started to get out of the car. First one foot, then the second, and as soon as I stood up, God and Jesus created one more miracle.

In one second, I could walk, run, and jump.

My sister had left so fast she did not get to see my first step.

When I entered my home and put down my things, at that time God and Jesus let me realize what had happened to me and let me know all the miracles they did over the last two weeks.

I started jumping up and down, rejoicing and saying with great joy, “It’s a miracle! It’s a miracle! It’s a miracle!” It took about five hours for everything to sink in.

Do you remember the special dream I had about God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit and me, and all I knew was that all four of us were going to do something together? Do you also remember the three and a half years of very, very severe chronic pain? Well, the past fourteen days were the completion of what God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, and myself did together.

So this is your wake-up call. Make no mistake, what you do in this lifetime will decide what happens to you after you have passed away. Every single person who has ever lived will answer to God and will face Judgment Day. Whether or not you will see paradise on earth will be up to God Almighty and Jesus Christ.

The person whose life you have just been reading about will pay for each and every sin on his soul for his entire life.

•   •   •

Ever since I left the hospital in 2005, when I start to pray to God, I can feel him with me. And if I pray to Jesus I can feel him with me too.

God has chosen to be with me. From the second I start praying to God until I finish with “Through Jesus Christ I pray,” I can physically feel God connected to me all around my brain, and I can feel a force field penetrating half an inch to three quarters of an inch. Then there are times when I’m not praying, and all of a sudden God will connect to me, sometimes for two or three hours at a time. It’s nice to feel God with me.

But after everyone has paid for their sins, everyone who accepts God Almighty as the one and only true God and accepts Jesus Christ as their Lord God in heaven, their King, and their Savior will live forever in paradise on earth to serve and worship God Almighty and his one and only son, Jesus Christ.

What a beautiful, precise reward for each and every Christian.

PLEASE ALWAYS REMEMBER—IT IS THE MESSAGE THAT IS IMPORTANT, NOT THE MESSENGER—ONLY THE MESSAGE.

And the message is to pray to God with all your heart, sincerity, and conviction, and with every ounce of your being. And to live your life as close to the way the Bible says to live it. Because if you do all this, you will live forever on a paradise earth.

Afterword

The miracle you read about in this book where God Almighty, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit resurrected me from the dead is entirely true. God Almighty and Jesus Christ performed this miracle to give everyone a wake-up call and to say we are alive and well, and when we choose to, we will perform many, many miracles and touch many, many people’s lives.

It is my hope that by reading this book, your eyes, mind, and soul are opened to the glory that is God Almighty and his son, Jesus Christ, and that maybe your whole life will change for the better. And just maybe, one day God will touch your soul as he has touched mine.

Yours truly,

James Wright

The End

Table of Contents

Resurrected

Copyright

Table of Contents

Preface

Part I: Birth

Chapter 1: A Family History

Chapter 2: The Way Things Would Be

Chapter 3: The Nightmare

Chapter 4: On My Own

Part II: Breaking Point

Chapter 5: Checkmate

Chapter 6: My Self-Confidence Grows

Chapter 7: Ape Man

Chapter 8: My Escape

Chapter 9: Becoming a Man

Part III: Street Family

Chapter 10: Sam and Lisa

Chapter 11: Important Lessons

Chapter 12: The Sexual Revolution

Chapter 13: Diamonds

Part IV: Rebirth

Chapter 14: Powers

Chapter 15: Falling in Love

Chapter 16: Turning to God for Help

Chapter 17: Working Hard

Chapter 18: The Jaywalker

Chapter 19: E.T.

Part V: A New Chapter Begins

Chapter 20: A Lost Friend and a New Opportunity

Chapter 21: Two New Loves

Chapter 22: The Last Straw

Chapter 23: A New Beginning

Chapter 24: Jackpot

Chapter 25: Blind Date

Chapter 26: Hockey Cards

Part VI: Retribution & Redemption

Chapter 27: The Pain and Agony Start

Chapter 28: Disabled by the Pain

Chapter 29: Stephanie

Chapter 29: Resurrection

Afterword