John, the Step Monster
I was 6 years old when my childhood ended. My mother had divorced my father, moved from the British Properties to a farm in Surrey with my step father, John Hogan, and they got busy smoking, drinking, fucking and fighting. My older sister, Janina, was sent to live with relatives, to ease the burden on my mother, so I had to fend for myself.
I escaped the drunken chaos by going to my room right after dinner. I would draw and paint for hours, look at Sears catalogues, listen to the radio while planning my escape. It was not a happy childhood, I don’t remember any birthday parties or many Christmas presents. I do remember my step father, John beating the hell out of me in his drunken fits, my heavily pregnant mother watching helplessly. One night, my nine year old cousin Steven bravely stood between me and my raging Step Monster. I was shocked that anyone would even try to protect me. I was amazed that someone cared.
Growing up fast
My half sister Jamie was born in December of 1966, and I became her caretaker. I’ll never forget the time I got in trouble because she rolled off the couch at the age of three months. My parents were in the bedroom and I was charged with watching her. It was a seminal moment when I realized my role, I was no longer a child, I was the “help”.
By the time I was 7, I did laundry (with a wringer washer and a clothesline), prepared meals, changed diapers, washed dishes and vacuumed. I remember walking down the country road with fresh milk (it was one of my chores to fetch milk from the neighbour), and in a playful mood, I was swinging the jugs like a windmill with my arms. I swung too high and the milk came down upon my head, which, of course, was met with harsh punishment. We had Shetland ponies, Prince, Princess, and Dusty, and my kitten named Lucky. One day, she went into a seizure on the front porch. My step father picked her up, walked to the back yard and shot her.
From the frying pan to the fire
Eventually, my mother left John, and we moved into the house at 3349 E. 2nd Avenue near Rupert. Thus began a new Fresh Hell. As a result of the chronic neglect and domestic violence, I developed nocturnal enuresis at the age of 6. Because my mother was “busy”, my bedding and clothing were never washed unless I did it. So I reeked of urine. My room reeked, I reeked. In Elementary school, I was the stinky, fat kid with second hand clothes, a chipped front tooth and a weird haircut. Boys chased me just to beat me up, and girls laughed at me behind my back. I had no friends and was always picked last in sports teams. I hated school, but I hated it less than being home.
My mind as a Sanctuary
Since earliest memory, I have found sanctuary in my mind. Always a dreamer, my imagination became a refuge from the sufferings of existence. With it, I could escape into worlds I created, filled with colour, music, and magic. I created a world with no bullies, no violence, and safety in beauty.
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