I grew up in a small town until the age of eight years. My father had a new job in Toronto and we all moved to a newly built home in the suburbs. It was exciting and the landscape was new to me. The very first night we slept on the bare hardwood floors, but we didn't mind, my parents were so excited to own a home of their own, the purchase price was $34,600.00. The next day the moving trucks came and I did everything I could do to help or perhaps, get in the way.

In the morning I decided to go for a walk and in no time got lost. Exhausted tired and hungry, I sat on the curb and balled my eyes out hoping someone would come to my rescue. In a short time someone did. He asked me for my address, something I'll never forget, because I was so proud. It turned out my home was up the hill, almost in sight.

That summer I made friends with lots of kids. Some were into GI Joe, I saw them as dolls. One boy I met was the son of a well known sports announcer. I still don't know what happened there, but from that day forward he had it in for me.

I think my school years there began for me in grade four. The first few days were fun but then something happened. All of a sudden I was smelly and all the kids made fun of me. I didn't know then what I know now and so could never solve the problem. Everyone in my household smoked cigarettes, so that with my sweat must have really stunk. My mother worked sixteen hours a day, so I guess housework took a back seat.

Every time I made a new friend, the other kids would tease him and persuade him to fight me to show he wasn't my friend. Sometimes I would let him hit me, so the other kids would leave him alone. Other times I got angry and took out some teeth. Either way I was on the loosing end. Of course, if I hit the other kid I would have to go to the office. If I let my friend hit me, everyone was amicable and no one got into trouble. Confusing shit at the time and with no one to talk to, pretty lonely. As tough as that was I learned a lot about human nature. Those exact moments still remain with me today. I am standing facing my only friend as the crowd taunts us. I know I can end the nightmare by taking the first punch, but he is my only friend. If I see he is turning against me I hit him hard and end it. If I see hesitation, a guilty conscience I leave myself open.

The school at the time was a modern school and had an open concept classroom set up. Basically, bookshelves, coat racks and teaching apparatuses separated the classrooms.
My emotionally charged adopted brother was in the classroom next to mine. He was always getting into trouble because the kids knew they could always get a rise out of him. One day he held the safety scissors above his head and told the kid who was bothering him to shut up. All hell broke loose, he was now the devil child in the Catholic School and something had to be done!

The administrators came up with an ingenious plan that would haunt me for years. They took a large fridge delivery box, put a desk in it, made a door in the side and a front opening for my brother to view the teacher.  I could see the bombasity   from my classroom and couldn't pay attention to my own teacher. I would become angry and couldn't concentrate on my work.

My teacher decided I was in need of remedial work and had me put in the slow learning center. Basically a cinder block classroom cut off from the rest of the school. The remedial teacher on the first day recognized I didn't belong there. Took me gently by the hand, marched me into my former classroom, and said, "this child does not belong in my classroom." A quiet argument played out, I spent the rest of the week in the office and was reassigned to my previous classroom.

You would think this might have been a victory for me, but it wasn't. Do to these incidences I wasn't accepted by the regular children because I was assigned to the remedial class. I wasn't accepted by the remedial class because it was made apparent to them I wasn't one of them. 

In grade five with the advantage of speaking French being made a reality in Canada my parents decided to send me to a French elementary school. I was happy to go, make a fresh start and make some new friends. I was there for about two weeks and was just one of the kids out on the school yard. I was talking my mother tongue again and was truly happy.

That all came to an abrupt end in my final day at the school. The teacher singled me out and asked me a math question. I responded in French as was expected and got the answer correct. The teacher accused my new friend adjacent to me of whispering the answer to me. He was sent to the office. The teacher then asked me a question about a book we had been reading. I responded in French and the next thing I knew I was sent down to the office for the last time, because I was placed back in my previous school.

Now, I really was out of place and school was a daily torture for me, but at that age what else is there?