CHAPTER 1
I grew up on a farm in Kelowna, British Columbia, Canada. I hadloving parents and two older brothers. Life was great. We had afew cows, a horse, chickens, and a lot of room to play and explore.We spent most of our time outside playing and tending to the needsof farm life. Of course the chores weren't so much fun, but we allneeded to do our part. Like most parents in that time, our parentsused farm chores as a punishment if we were out of line. Ourparents never beat us or abused us. The farm was wonderful.
On special holidays, the neighbouring families all got togetherto celebrate. We went ice-skating on frozen ponds, had bonfiresfor Halloween, and had Easter egg hunts. There was always anadventure.
One of the neighboring families had eleven children. It wasalways easy to put a baseball team or soccer team together.
The youngest of the kids, I followed the older ones in all I did.I always looked up to my brothers and the others. Whether it wasriding our bikes down the steep hills or riding the horses up intothe mountains that surrounded our farms, I went along with theirplans.
At one point my parents took my brothers and me aside toinform us they were taking in two more children as foster kids.They lived on another farm next to ours. I was too young tounderstand why, but I do remember a strange feeling when theyjoined our family. We now had a new brother and sister. I was stillthe youngest child.
My parents didn't have much money, but they always providedeverything we needed. My mother worked in a bank, and Dadworked at a boat-building plant. They worked at their jobs allweek, and in the evenings and on weekends they worked on thefarm, all of us helping where we could. My dad taught us how tocare for the farm, and Mom taught us how to care for the homeand ourselves. There was never a man's job or a woman's job;we all worked together to complete whatever tasks needed to bedone.
We played different sports in the community—mostly baseballand soccer. I remember Mom and Dad coming to some of theevents, but because of work they couldn't attend all of them. In thefarming community, a skating rink was built, and all the differentfamilies did their part to clean the ice and maintain the rink. It wasoutdoors in the fresh air. I always loved going to the rink.
We were a happy family. We didn't have much, but we werehappy. I have to say in all my years I never saw or heard myparents argue. Life as a young child seemed perfect. Often wewould go camping in the hills, where we did lots of fishing, andusually another family would join us. We went on big family tripsto Disneyland and Hawaii, and again other farming families werewith us.
I knew it took a lot of sacrifice and hard work to go on thoseholidays. It was just the way things were then. Often my mothermade our T-shirts and pants, and there were a lot of hand-me-downs,especially for me, the youngest. My first bike was puttogether with spare parts. Of course I wanted what other kidswere getting. I think that's normal for a child, but in our lives wewere happy.
Mom always said I was the quiet one, playing by myself forhours indoors with board games or outside with my toys. I lovedmy parents and brothers very much, but I never became close tomy foster brother and sister.
Every so often, I went for a sleepover at a friend's home or afriend came to our farm. Everything was wonderful—or at leastit seemed that way on the outside. While everything seemed sohappy, there was a darkness, a secret I was afraid to speak toanyone about, a secret that began when I was in the third grade andhas stayed inside me to this day. I held this fear within because ofwhat might happen to me if I spoke of it. It never stopped but grewlike an infection spreading from one form to another. It stayed withme always, growing as I grew. I buried this fear deep inside me, tooafraid to tell another soul.
CHAPTER 2
As in any normal family, there were times when we childrenfought over silly things, but Mom and Dad always resolvedour disagreements. The things I saw on our neighbours' farm (theone with the eleven children) I'll never forget. It seemed from achild's point of view that there was constantly screaming, fighting,and swearing coming from their farmhouse. I witnessed on manyoccasions one brother beating another and sisters fighting sisters. Iremember watching the father chasing the boys with a two-by-fourto beat them. It terrified me. I felt very sorry for the kids on thatfarm and was grateful my parents weren't that way. When we wentto their home to play, I was always afraid of what their father mightdo to me. He never did a thing to me, but the fear was always there.I could never understand why there seemed to be so much hate inthat home. Fear only seemed to grow inside me, but I never spokeof it. I was very happy my mom and dad loved us.
I believe school is where my life changed dramatically. Therewas a boy in my third-grade class. He lived about ten miles awayfrom my home on another farm. He changed my life forever. Anyinnocence I had was lost. The happy, quiet little boy that had sucha loving family was about to begin a new chapter in his life. Anyfears I already had were about to grow tenfold.
I'll never forget that first day. The school was small, with gradesone and two in one room and grades three and four in another. Itwas a small farming community schoolhouse. There was a littlefield where we could play sports outside, and in the winter monthswe played in the basement.
The boy's name was Luke (I won't use his last name). Thefirst time I saw him in our class, I was afraid of him. Even thoughhe was much smaller than I was, the look he gave me made meshudder. His eyes seemed fixed on me. His grin was not thatof a boy who wanted to make friends. I was so afraid I left theclassroom and ran into the hall. It was as if I knew what was tocome. Tears formed, and I gasped for breath. I trembled, and yethe had not said a word to me.
It was a sunny spring day, and we were sent outside to playat recess or lunch breaks. The first recess bell rang, and all thechildren happily ran outside to play. I recall trying to think of anexcuse to tell my teacher—something that could keep me inside. Itold her I wasn't feeling well and asked if I could please stay insidefor recess. I was relieved when she said okay. I felt safe, but itdidn't last. Lunchtime was coming soon. With recess over, the kidsbegan to fill the classroom again. Sitting at my desk, I tried not tolook up. I didn't want to see him. When he entered the room, hiseyes were fixed on me, no grin on his face—only a look of anger,hatred. I swallowed the lump in my throat. My mind racing, I wasterrified.
Our class continued, my mind occupied with the lessons fromour teacher. When the lunch bell rang, I was startled. In a splitsecond, fear flowed through my body. Again all the kids ran outsideto play. I panicked, wondering what to do. My teacher approachedme and asked if I was feeling better. I said no, but she thought thefresh air would do me good. She told me I should go outside butshouldn't be too active. I trembled, gathered my lunch, and slowlywalked towards the door.
Outside it was warm, the sun beating down. I stepped out thedoor, scanning the playground for Luke. Relieved that I couldn'tsee him, I walked down the stairs. My ears were filled with theschoolyard sounds of kids playing. As I reached the bottom of thestairs, there he was, waiting for me. He glanced up to the doorsand saw no...
