My Life Story: Part I - The Early Years (1966 - 1981)

Updated August 23, 2006

I am what is lightly referred to as 'Heinz 57' ethnically. By far, the majority (around 80%) is from the United Kingdom (all parts) in origin, as well as 1/8 First Nations (Cree and Ojibwa, as far as I know) and 1/16 or 1/32 black (I'm not exactly sure which is correct).

I was born two months prematurely, weighing in at two pounds, twelve-and-a-half ounces, on May 10, 1966, in the Hotel Dieu of St. Joseph's Hospital, in Windsor, Ontario. My father did a disappearing act when he discovered that my mother was pregnant with his child. He was sixteen years old, she was only twelve when I was born. I have no name or any other information about my father at this time.

As to whether or not I have siblings, I just don't know. My mother was forced by her parents, shortly after my birth, to give me to the Windsor Catholic Children's Aid Society. I don't know why for sure, although I suspect that my mother may have been the victim of a rapist, which would explain his disappearing act quite well. I honestly don't know the answer to this, as I have never seen or met my mother.

I spent most of my first 6 1/2 years living in numerous foster homes in the Windsor area; while living in these places, I was subjected to every form of abuse that I can think of: physical, sexual, financial, social, mental, emotional, psychological, developmental, etc.

I was raped for the first time when I was only 4 1/2 years old; at the age of five, I was thrown down a stairwell, by the boyfriend of one of my foster mothers, simply because I was having an epileptic seizure and he didn't want to have to watch it happen.

I came very close to dying from malnutrition while living in the foster homes. Most of the time, when the family would sit down for their meals, I was forced to watch them eat. I was lucky to have something to eat maybe three times a week (mostly gruel). Do you have any idea what gruel is? Here we go: gruel is porridge, usually thinned by adding water to it, and boiled until it has no nutritional value at all.

By the age of 6 1/2 years, I looked like the kids in Ethiopia did in the early to mid 1980s. Isn't it disgusting, that adults would do this to a little child? Yet, in the 1960s and '70s, the abuse of children in foster homes was a very frequent occurence.

Because of the abuse, I had no concept of 'positive' relationships. When I was four years old, I was diagnosed as having Gender Dysphoria. Before my adoption, which happened shortly after my seventh birthday, my adoptive father-to-be was told to make me become a man, even if this required the use of physical force.

During my entire adoption period, my 'father' regularly whipped me with a 2 inch wide, 1/8 inch thick leather belt. When the other kids (I was the middle child {have you ever heard of 'middle child syndrome'?}) got into trouble, they would be scolded and maybe receive a couple whacks from Daddy's belt. I got it, every day, for over seven years, with the severity of the punishment increasing steadily as I grew older. By the time that I turned fourteen, I was afraid to take part in my Physical Education classes because of the multitude of belt marks across my back and thighs. This was my one and only 'reward' from a man who 'loved' me as his own son. Ugh!

On a few occasions during my adoption years, I would sneak into the bedroom shared by my two younger sisters and try on their clothes (this was possible because I was very small for my age). I got caught by Mom once. She freaked out on me at the time but, as far as I know, she never told Dr. Scott (my 'father'), because he would have killed me for it; of that, I am sure.

In early August of 1979, when I was thirteen, I ran away from home and ended up in Nova Scotia, in a village by the name of Pugwash. I stayed there for about ten to fourteen days; I first met my cousin, Laura, at that time.

While I was there, I became sexually involved with several girls (upwards of half a dozen). Six of the girls conceived and, nine months later, seven children were born. According to my cousin, whom I met again late in the summer of 2001, all seven children resemble me.

In February of 1981, I ran away again. This time, I ended up at a Valentine's Day party in Stratford, Ontario (about 30 km northeast of the city of London). While I was sleeping, I was tied to the four poster bed by six girls, who then proceeded to gang rape me. As I was not going through an identity crisis at that time, I eventually joined in and had a ball with the girls. As a result of this escapade, three of the girls conceived. One had a miscarriage; the other two girls gave birth to three children during the late summer and early fall of that year.

When I was fourteen years old, I became sick and tired of Dr. Scott's perpetual abuse. I told him, and I quote, "If you ever touch me again, I'll kill you." Even though I weighed a mere 65 lbs. to his 210, he believed me. From that moment on, I was separated (my favorite term is ostracized) from the rest of the family by his express order. I was only allowed to leave my room to use the washroom or go to school. That was my life, for more than a year, until the adoption was terminated.

By the way, I also separated from the Catholic Church, at about the same time, due to what can only be described as theological differences in opinion.

Part II - Post Adoption To Release On Murder Charges (1981 - 2000)