I knew the look on my fathers face, I had seen this look of dissappointment before,mostly when his beloved Red Soxs had lost a game on the television set.As he approached me with my gift,I could see in his eyes that this was much worse.He scooped me up in his arms and we sat down in my grandmothers old rocking chair.He hugged me so tightly that it nearly took my breath away and it happend....my father started to cry.This would be the first and last time I would ever see my father cry.
I did not know yet the circumstances that led to his tears but I too felt compelled to cry along with him.When he finally stopped sobbing atop my now tear dampend hair,he pulled me from his chest and gave me the news that had prompted his despair.
My mother who I had not seen in many years had planned in only two short days to come back for me and my things.She had plans to move us both to a place I had not even heard of.I was eager to go,until my father told me that he would not be leaving with us.I then started to cry again at the thought of leaving my precious father behind.How could this strange woman just come and take me from my family,my home?
You must understand that in these days the family courts had little to do with family matters concerning parental rights.There was an un-written rule that guardianship was automatically granted to the mother.Therefore my father had no say in granting my mother her wish of whisking me off to a diffrent province.
The days that came were dreary around my grandmothers house.It seemed I was given alot more attention from the family members that visited,and there were alot of adult conversations that I could not be part of.
My father reluctently packed my many belongings that I had collected over the years,all of which he had purchased for me,into bags and totes that he then neatly stacked into a pile against the wall.It was like a tower of doom that I wished would fall over and collapse. That all my tiny collectables and plush toys would re-essemble themselves into there proper resting places.
After three days of many tears and breath taking hugs,the day had finally come.I woke to consume my last morning breakfast with the family I had grown to love so deeply.I would no longer here the morning ritual of my grandmothers wedding ring clinking on the side of her glass jar of insulan to prepare it for her daily shot.The offerings of thanks for the meal of oats and orange juice that I had grown to like.My grandmothers final prayer hit me with such sadness that I could not eat my morning meal through the tears that were now dripping from my face into my bowl.
I had not up to this point vocalized my un- willingness to go with the stranger,in fear that it would only upset my father even more.But at this point I felt like it was all I could do to insure that I not be taken away.I cried to the point that no more tears were falling,I couldnt breath no longer and nausea was settling in.
My father to hide the last of his tears went and gathered my things.The only thing left for us was acceptance for what was to come.I went out side and decided to take my new bike for one last ride down the old bumpy drive way before it would be loaded into the trunk of my mothers car.
My mother pulled into the driveway only minutes later.My father carried all of my luggage to the car and hesitantly loaded it into the trunk all the while pleading that she not do this.My mother being the stubborn woman that she is would take no for an answer and demanded that i leave my bike to rest where it was.She told me I would not be able to take my new bike along because there would be no room for it with our many other bags.
So here I stood in our driveway with the shiny toy I had already gotten attached to in just a few short days,and my father who had never left my side in over six years,and this lady was making me leave both of them behind.This memory will forever be burned in my mind.Perhaps the first time of many to come I would feel hatred for this lady that insisted I call her mom.
I begged and pleaded that we make room for last thing of great importantance that my father had given me at that time.I offered up all of my other much smaller things in return that we could just some how manage to sqeeze this bike into the car.My mother now frustrated with my tears,demanded it be left behind and that I say my good byes so we could be on our way.She promised that on return to our new home,she would purchase a new bike for me,and teach me how to ride without the training wheels.So I relucltently returned it to the old shed and offerd my final hugs and kisses to my father.
Looking back now I wish that I had hugged my father a little tighter,kissed him a little harder,for I did not know that this would be the last time I would see him for many years to come.
While driving away my mother had already began to promise me of a good life.One of many toys and new children to play with in a neighbourhood that would take three days of driving to arrive in.
T he ride was long as you could imagine for a six year old very active child.It consisted of only stops for the bathroom and to eat truck stop sandwiches and drinks from pop dispensors.We slept in the car along the way when she was too tired to drive.She insisted that it was an adventure for us both.I was happy to finally be involved in one of her adventures that she had been taken since my birth.
We arrived as she had promised days later.It was nearly midnight when we drove through the city in search of our new home.All the city lights had made my once tired eyes seem to open wider to take it all in.Although the streets were silent,there was an imence energy in the air that i could feel even through the window that my nose was pushed up against.
I couldnt help but feel enthusiastic about being able to explore this large city in the daylight.The unhappiness I felt only a few short days earlier had subsided greatly when we finally came to a stop in front of an old beaten down trailer in the out skirts of town.
It was green in the places where years of rust erosion hadnt yet taken over.It looked as tho someone had attempted to apply paint to make it look more presentable,but only had enough to cover the lower half.The few windows on the trailer were not see through from the outside,and many had been cracked and repaired with cocking of some kind.The door on the front was blowing in the wind and banging against the side of the building making a loud crash as it collided with the tin can house.The yard was full of tall grass that had not been mowed in years and litterd with car parts that you could only see the tops of.
My mother led me up the rotting staircase towards the door.In the air was the smell of urine so strong that it burned my nose.I could not imagine what await me inside this hell hole.Nor could I even begin to understand why my mother had ripped me from my comfortable,well kept house to bring me here.It would not make sense to me until we entered the trailer.Had I relized then that this was the beggining of not an adventure that my mother had promised,but the beggining instead of the downward spiral of my life.This beat up green trailer was to be the scene of the many years of torture that was about to come......