Unhappy times 1965-1971

My parents found a low-income apartment on Crevier Street in Ville St. Laurent, which was in Montreal. My eldest brother had gone to live with my aunt and uncle in Toronto. My eldest sister came to Montreal for only a few months and then returned to New Brunswick. She was 16 at the time. I believe she got married the following summer. So we were 8 people living in a 3-bedroom apartment. I can't imagine living in a new place, having no money, no job, and having to feed and dress 6 kids. My mother, two of my sisters went to work at the Danby factory. My other sister continued her schooling and High School. I believe my father soon found some work at Canadair, an airplane building facility. He tried to provide for his family, but he was an alcoholic. His pay was gone if my mother didn't get to it before he did.

Unfortunately, my memories of living on Crevier Street were mostly unpleasant. I was a very shy child and had a rough start in grade 1. On my first day of school, I ran back home. My teacher looked very stern, and she scared me. I can’t remember if my mother was home when I returned or what happened.

I don’t remember much of my elementary school years, probably because I was always on guard. I would spend many nights awake, listening to my parents fighting. I was always so afraid for my mother. One night, my father was drunk, and he became very violent. I think our neighbours called the police. The police told my mother it was best if we went to stay with someone. I still don’t understand why they didn’t take my father with them. I just remember that my cat Bébé had just had kittens, and I didn’t want to leave them, so we packed them into a box and brought them with us. I believe we went to stay at my brother`s, but I don’t know for how long.

We had many nights like that. My father would drink too much, and then he would start with verbal abuse, and then it would become physical. He would want sex, and if my mother refused, he would pull her into the bedroom and force himself on her.

When I was young, I thought that was just how men were, but as time passed, I realised this was not right. I remember going to a friend’s house, and her grandfather came to tuck us into bed, and I was terrified. I thought he would abuse us, but he was kind, told us to sleep well, and that he loved us. WOW, there were parents and men like that? 

There were nights when I couldn’t stand the arguing, and I would hide in the apartment hallway. Our neighbour, a kind lady,  found me once and brought me into her place. Many times after that, when she would hear fighting, she would open her door, and I would be seated on the stairs hoping that she would take me in, and she always did. I called her my mom #2 right up to the day she died in 2022. She was an amazing woman.

I do have one good and funny memory of my father. We used to rent a cottage on a lake and I am now living in that area. It was about a 2-hour drive from our home in Ville St. Laurent. One weekend before we went to the country cottage, my father and I went to the fish market, Gibney’s. Gibney’s was the place to go if you wanted fresh fish or seafood. My father loved lobster, and he purchased 2 live ones. We placed the lobsters in a bucket in the car's back seat beside me.

I felt so sad for them. I knew it was nearing the end of their lives. I was always so sensitive, especially when it came to animals. I told my father I thought the lobsters should have one last swim in the lake. He said that if it made me feel better, we would do that once we reached the lake. We went to the nearby beach, and he tied a rope around their bodies, and I took them for a swim in the lake. I thought I was doing a great service to them, but when I got older, I realized I gave them a slow death because they were in freshwater, not salt water. I was only around 8 years old, and no one ever explained this to me. Deep down inside, my father must have thought this was hilarious. Well, at least I thought what he did was nice, and it showed that he did have a good side. 

My sister who was 6 years older than me; she had a very hard time at home. She was very outspoken and didn’t respect my parents’ rules much. I believe that she was being sexually abused by one of her teachers. I only learnt this from my mother the year my mother passed. I never had the chance to ask my sister if this was true because she died 2 years later. I believe that she had been sexually abused by others, but when she would tell someone, they didn’t believe her.

They just thought she was saying that for attention. I remember when I was around 9 years old, and she was very unhappy at home. I didn’t know why? One day, she had a huge argument with my father, and he made her go to her bedroom. She was so upset that she decided she would run away from home and took the sheets off her bed, tied them together, and climbed out of her 3rd-floor bedroom window. Now that took guts! She ran away to my sister’s apartment. My sister took her in, staying there until the court could place her in a foster home. It was the best thing that could have happened to her. The foster family was caring, and they ensured that my sister was involved in things she enjoyed, like art. They sent her to the Academie of Fine Arts in Montreal. She could express herself through her art, which may have saved her life. She was a very talented artist. She participated in an art mural on a building at the corner of President Kennedy Avenue and Jeanne-Mance Street in Montreal while at the Museum of Fine Arts. It still stands to this day in 2023. It is one of the oldest murals in Montreal.

My father was also a womanizer. He had many affairs, and we always knew when he was on the prowl. He was a good-looking man, tall, slim, and a good dresser. He would put on a nice suit, shirt, tie, and some cologne, and off he would go. My mother knew but never said anything. I think she was just too afraid of him.

Once, my mother was going to her weekly bowling, and my friend and I went with her. We decided to return home early, and when I came into the apartment, I could hear voices. They were coming from my parent’s bedroom. My mother used to sell dresses as a side job. I went to the bedroom door and knocked, and then I opened the door. The women just stood there naked. I was shocked, so I closed the door. My father came out of the room, and I asked him what was happening. He said she came to try on some dresses. I asked him if he always went into the room when women would try on dresses. I told him he was lying, and then the woman came out, didn’t say a word, and left. My friend and I followed her up the street, and we could tell she was really scared of us. I never saw her again! I started to hate my father, which didn’t help matters when I became a teenager.