My #Metoo Story Continued
I've been hearing about the reconciliation the Canadian government is involved in with the survivors of the residential schools wishing that people like me who survived the dysfunctions of foster care were included in those efforts.
If you read my first post you read that I was put into foster care. I was the ripe old age of 12. I was half way through grade seven.
I was told that the foster home was one of the best. The foster parents won awards for being good foster parents. That wasn't my experience.
My foster parents names were John and Billie. Billie was a nick name for the foster mother. Her real name was Dorothy.
Both John and Billie were drunks. They drank all the time. Billie sat at the kitchen table all day drinking her Rye and milk. She said that she drank it because it was like medicine. John worked as a bus driver in Vancouver. He coached the high school rugby team and the community softball league. They were both well know in the community as good people.
But that was not my experience. John was always prying into my business asking questions trying to figure out if whether or not I was sexually active. I was 12 years old when I was put into foster care.I hadn't even thought about having sex at that point. He was always glaring at me.It used to creep me out, still creeps me out thinking about it. Thinking about the whole time I spent in the foster home still bothers me to this day and ya I was one of the lucky ones. I always felt violated while I was there. Having this old man always glaring at me as if I was some kind of piece of meat.
The foster home was in Ladner BC my dad lived in Terrace BC. My mom and dad were always in court for something. This one time my dad came down to go to court he came to the foster home to visit. I was so excited to have him come visit. I wanted to set a good impression so I borrowed a really nice outfit to wear. I remember I looked so good and felt so grown up.
My dad came to visit. We had a great time. I remember that we played a game of pool and bet him. After our visit was over John and I drove my dad to the airport. I think John was drunk because we almost got into an accident on the way home. Had I not being watching the road we probably would have been killed in a head on collision.
When we got back to Ladner after dropping my dad off at the airport John decided to stop by his favorite bar and have a drink. I was told to stay in the car. I don't know how long I waited in that dam car. It seemed like forever. I would have walked home but I was wearing this cute outfit which consisted of a short black skirt and a matching top. I felt very self conscious in that short black skirt. I didn't want people to see me walking down the street. So I waited in the car.
John eventually came out of the bar after what seemed to be for ever.
We started driving towards the house. As we were driving John reached over and tried to put his hand up my dress. I managed to push his hand away but never forgot how I felt that day. I don't know how many times I blamed myself for him trying to put his hand up my dress. If only I walked back to the house then that wouldn't have happened.
I ended up running away from the foster home. I saw him years later. I was 29. I was in the hospital. I had just given birth to my youngest daughter. He walked past my room. We recognized each other right away. He came into my room and talked to me for awhile. He said that I was the only one of his foster kids that never came to visit him. I thought to myself I wonder why.
He gave me his phone number and address and said I should come visit. I never did. Sometimes I wished I had just so I could find out what happened to the three other girls that were in the foster home with me.
If you read my first post you read that I was put into foster care. I was the ripe old age of 12. I was half way through grade seven.
I was told that the foster home was one of the best. The foster parents won awards for being good foster parents. That wasn't my experience.
My foster parents names were John and Billie. Billie was a nick name for the foster mother. Her real name was Dorothy.
Both John and Billie were drunks. They drank all the time. Billie sat at the kitchen table all day drinking her Rye and milk. She said that she drank it because it was like medicine. John worked as a bus driver in Vancouver. He coached the high school rugby team and the community softball league. They were both well know in the community as good people.
But that was not my experience. John was always prying into my business asking questions trying to figure out if whether or not I was sexually active. I was 12 years old when I was put into foster care.I hadn't even thought about having sex at that point. He was always glaring at me.It used to creep me out, still creeps me out thinking about it. Thinking about the whole time I spent in the foster home still bothers me to this day and ya I was one of the lucky ones. I always felt violated while I was there. Having this old man always glaring at me as if I was some kind of piece of meat.
The foster home was in Ladner BC my dad lived in Terrace BC. My mom and dad were always in court for something. This one time my dad came down to go to court he came to the foster home to visit. I was so excited to have him come visit. I wanted to set a good impression so I borrowed a really nice outfit to wear. I remember I looked so good and felt so grown up.
My dad came to visit. We had a great time. I remember that we played a game of pool and bet him. After our visit was over John and I drove my dad to the airport. I think John was drunk because we almost got into an accident on the way home. Had I not being watching the road we probably would have been killed in a head on collision.
When we got back to Ladner after dropping my dad off at the airport John decided to stop by his favorite bar and have a drink. I was told to stay in the car. I don't know how long I waited in that dam car. It seemed like forever. I would have walked home but I was wearing this cute outfit which consisted of a short black skirt and a matching top. I felt very self conscious in that short black skirt. I didn't want people to see me walking down the street. So I waited in the car.
John eventually came out of the bar after what seemed to be for ever.
We started driving towards the house. As we were driving John reached over and tried to put his hand up my dress. I managed to push his hand away but never forgot how I felt that day. I don't know how many times I blamed myself for him trying to put his hand up my dress. If only I walked back to the house then that wouldn't have happened.
I ended up running away from the foster home. I saw him years later. I was 29. I was in the hospital. I had just given birth to my youngest daughter. He walked past my room. We recognized each other right away. He came into my room and talked to me for awhile. He said that I was the only one of his foster kids that never came to visit him. I thought to myself I wonder why.
He gave me his phone number and address and said I should come visit. I never did. Sometimes I wished I had just so I could find out what happened to the three other girls that were in the foster home with me.
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