On March 13th 1960, I was born in The Queen of the Valley Hospital, child to a poor Portuguese mother and a nomad Irish merchant marine father. I was named Victoria, though I do not know what my last name was. My father disappeared leaving me with a mother who was not interested in the son she had, let alone her brand new baby daughter. She remedied the situation by taking both of us to peoples houses and dropping us off, telling the people she would be back to collect us when she was done shopping. She would leave and not return, leaving the bewildered ‘baby-sitters’ with a one-year old boy and brand new baby girl on their hands. The people would normally keep us for about a week and then frustrated, they would hand us over to juvenile hall. Juvenile Hall would find our mother and give us back to her; she would pick us up and start the whole routine again with another unsuspecting family. This went on for months when finally there was a law enacted that allowed the state to badge her an unfit mother and take us away from her. The next time she dropped us off and we ended up in juvenile hall, we were both sent to our first foster home.

I spent the next four years of my life being moved from foster home to foster home. At that time, controls on foster parenting were very lax and a lot of people were in it strictly for the money. That means that the smaller amount of money you spent on the child, the more money you kept for yourself. Even though I was a very young child, I still remember certain things about the foster homes and I have a few pictures of me at that stage in my life.

Food was not something given in ample supply at foster homes, I became very malnourished, I had a tummy that stuck way out, stick legs and arms and I had to wear braces on my legs because they were turning outwards. The drink of the period was water, either from a hose, or in one instance in a big metal bowl sitting on a table with a cup chained to it. I remember being hungry enough that I was eating the plants in the yard along with the other children at more than one foster home.

One foster home had a small above ground pool that had a bucket of water to wash your feet off in before you got in the pool. I remember one young girl that needed to go to the bathroom very badly. She banged on the glass door begging to be let in to go to the bathroom, but they would not let her in. Finally in desperation, she dropped her drawers and used the bucket next to the pool. When the foster parents saw what she was doing, they came out, grabbed her and beat her severely for using the bucket in such a manner.

Love was an unknown commodity in foster homes. There were no hugs, no butterfly kisses, no bedtime stories, no comforting, The homes in a large part had a schedule that went something like this. Wake all the children, get them dressed and feed them a small breakfast. Lock them out in the back yard for the day unattended, let them in at night, give them a small dinner and send them to bed. The children at the foster homes built a higherarchy. How tough you were determined where you were on the ladder. Though a small child, I learned very very early on how to take care of myself as best as circumstances would allow. I had no friends or playmates really, what I had were competitors in all situations. I became a very strong willed child that could beat up children larger than me despite my condition. I built strong stamina and determination and the knowledge that no one would look out for my well being but me. Even my brother was my competitor I felt no love or attachment to or for anyone. Often I was separated from my brother often as we were sent to different foster homes to live. I never got to really know him or feel that he was part of me. And that continued through to this day.

Clothes were not something we had a lot of. Clothes cost money and that was money the foster homes could spend on other things if they did not spend it on the children. I had two articles of clothing. My every day wear was a dark green flower sack with a hole cut in the bottom for my head to go through and a hole on either side for my arms. The other article was a white sun suit with bumblebees on it. That article was only worn when I was being shown to possible adoptive parents. To this day, I still have those two articles of clothing.

When I was four years old, I was dressed in my sunsuit, joined with my brother and taken to a park to meet a family. This was to be the family that adopted both of us together. I was running around the park flapping my arms and pretending I was a butterfly when they showed up. I met only my mother and father at this meeting as they left their eleven year old son with a baby sitter. They decided they wanted to adopt us so after they filled out the paperwork, we were taken to their home for a trial period, that trial period lasted a couple of months and then we were theirs.

I was a very stubborn child and I worked very hard at looking out for myself. I could not conceive the idea that this was my new family and that I would not be moving on in a month or so. My standard line was my last mommy didn’t make me do that, my next mommy isn’t gonna make me do that and YOU aren’t gonna make me do that.

I was scared to death of hot water because in one foster home if you did something wrong, they would hold your hand under scalding hot water to punish you. I was also scared to death of having my head held under running water. I was a real struggle to wash my hair because I would fight like I was being killed.

After a period of about nine months, the family had had enough. They sat my brother and I down and told us they didn’t want us anymore. I remember well, sitting on the floor next to my brother looking up at my mother sitting in a gold recliner. There was a table next to her with a nondescript table lamp on it. The yellow glow of the light shone on my mother’s face as she told us that we were no longer welcome in their house and we would be going back to foster homes.

My mother did in fact contact the state and try to send us back, but the state said the trial period was up and they would be required to keep us till we reached 18 years of age. That sent the family into anger and resentment. And that is when the abuse started in full swing. I remember my mother making the flat out statement that her goal was going to be to break my spirit and she made a very valiant attempt at it. But God gave me a strong spirit and she was unable to break it. My brother was very timid and never fought anything. They had him totally under their control. But I was far from timid and not afraid of speaking up. I felt very unsafe in the structure of the home and started hiding food in my room just in case they stopped feeding me. Of course, the ants found my stockpiles often and I was repeatedly beaten for my behaviour. Breakfast Lunch and Dinner were bad times for me too,

I was a very slow eater, I think it had something to do with my digestion abilities or something, due to my early malnutrition. My mother took to setting a timer next to me and if my plate was not clean by the time the timer went off, I would be pulled off my chair and beaten severely right there and set back to finish my plate. She took to giving me things that I could not stomach like brussel sprouts. Then I would be sure to not be able to finish. Eating time beatings were very commonplace. I got to where I refused to eat, letting myself starve till I got dizzy and blacked out. Eating was never an enjoyment for me. To this day, what I enjoy about dinner is sharing the time with special people in my life. When left to my own devices, I still tend to let myself go hungry.

As time went on, I became more and more insecure, my mother would not allow people to hug me or show me any love because she said I did not deserve it. I started to break out all over my body. The doctor said I was scratching myself and making sores to get attention, so they needed to do something to humiliate me into stopping. I was made to strip out of my sleep clothes, go to the kitchen and paint every sore with iodine. Then I was to spend the rest of the day in the house with no clothes on. I was made fun of constantly by my brothers and shamed by the adults, except for my grandmother. She was the only one who ever truly loved me out of the whole bunch, but was powerless to help me.

When I went to school, I was made to wear dresses so that all the kids could see the iodine painted sores. I was made fun of and called “the girl who chews on herself”. I was miserable and full of hatred. I hated myself and I hated everyone around me except my grandmother. I took to trying to sleep my life away, hoping that when I woke up, it would be over. But what I woke to often was a beating for being lazy. My brothers grew much faster and bigger than I and when they were able to over power me, they would beat me up too. I remember to vividly one occasion where my brothers had me in the kitchen with no clothes on. They both had kitchen towels with the tips wet. I was lying on the floor against the refrigerator trying to cover and protect myself as they continually snapped me with the end of the towels. My oldest brother and their real son hated me. He tried a few times to kill me. On one occasion, I was in the bathroom and had just gotten out of the bath, so I had no clothes on. He came in, grabbed me and turned me with my back towards him, he clasped his hand over my mouth and pinched my nose closed. I struggled trying to pull his hand away from my face. My feet climbed the door opposite of me as I frantically tried to escape. As my feet ran up the door, the door banged the wall over and over again. That brought someone running and I was let loose to regain my breath. On two other occasions, he held me under water in the pool and tried to drown me there. The only person that has EVER EVER had hold of me while I was under water since was Glenn, because it takes tremendous trust from me in order to even let someone TOUCH me when I am in water. Resentment towards me grew stronger and stronger I was made to stay in my room alone for hours at a time for very small infractions. My mother took to holding tight to my bangs and beating the back of my head on the nearest wall till I nearly or completely blacked out. I have brain damage to this day because of that treatment. Christmas and my birthday was a horrifying time for me. While other kids were excitedly talking about what they were going to get, I shuddered at the thought of the heightened beatings I would receive as a result of them being required to buy presents for me.

My mother decided that she had had enough of staying home and ‘taking care of the kids’ so she found a cheap baby-sitter and started taking my brother and me to them daily. I can still remember the woman’s name. Her name was Pam Blumb and she was a ferocious woman. Her husband was even worse, I remember they had a collie that had pups. I remember seeing the collie go into their bedroom while the husband was sleeping and nose him and wake him. He would grab her collar, pull off his belt and beat her. I can still hear her yelps ringing in my ears like it happened yesterday. I saw him beat her like that on many occasions. This home was not at all dissimilar to the foster homes in the fact that the children were locked outside during the day. There was a big bowl of water set out for us and at noontime; we were all given three large milkbones to eat. This was in Ontario and it was very very hot. All of us kids would sit under a heavy tarp to make us sweat profusely just so we could pull the tarp off and allow the small breeze to cool us by evaporating our sweat, only to cover ourselves and do it again. This activity in a yard of dirt made for some very dirty children and my mother would get very angry about it and would give her cause for another beating. These people had a large above ground pool and the kids were occasionally allowed to go in it. In one instance, I was in the pool holding on to the edge and accidentally splashed the husband with water. He picked up a two by four and brought it down on my head, knocking me out and sending me sinking. My brother pulled me out. I swore that one-day, I would seek revenge on these evil people, but I guess the only revenge I can muster is to tell all of you about their ways.

When I got old enough to understand the meaning of what money was, I started washing cars and making about two hundred dollars per weekend. As soon as I started making money, my parents started charging me rent. I was probably around nine or so when that started. I started putting away my money, hiding it in my room. My oldest brother… their son. would find it once in a while and steal it, but that didn’t make any difference to them. It was also during this period that my father wrestled with me and accidentally broke my back. Neither wanted to deal with it or get it fixed so over the years, it got worse and worse to the point where my tailbone points out I have lateral waves and some twisting along with a flat spot between my shoulders. My lower back fused in its position and due to the position, my muscles on either side are in constant tension fighting against each other. That makes for very strong back muscles, but a very unhappy back in general.

During the period of my life when I was about ten, the only person that ever loved me and that I was very devoted to, got sick and went into the hospital. My grandmother was in here late eighties. and was dying. She no longer knew who I was when I visited her, and I was devastated by that fact. One night as I lay awake in my bed, my grandmother appeared at the foot of my bed. She sat down and smiled at me. She told me that she would always always love me and be with me. That life was hard for me but I would survive and I would go on. She sat and talked to me for a long time. Then she was gone. I told my parents the next morning that my grandmother was there and they told me that she had died early that morning. I cried and threw a fit cause I knew she was with me. But I soon realized that I had really lost her, that she was with me in my heart alone now. To this day, I have no pictures of anyone in my family except a small picture of me and my grandmother sitting together. I carry that one in the car with me everywhere. If you are ever in my car, ask me and I will produce that very special picture for you to look at.