My father is not someone I would describe as
a person with a strong work ethic, but rather a social butterfly who is
allergic to real work; he spins his wheels trying to organise himself to
complete the most basic of tasks. He enjoys his freedom and having absolutely
no real responsibilities tied to a clock. Jack cannot be on time to save his
life; in fact, he was 20 minutes late to his own father’s funeral. After living
in this 7,000 square foot monstrosity of a rooming house, it became clear to
Jack that this business did not actually run itself and needed daily attention.
The “drunks” who lived upstairs regularly damaged the property, burnt holes in
the bed sheets, clogged toilets, or ran the utilities unnecessarily.
With the rising costs of inflation, repairs,
and mostly his quickly vanishing freedom, Jack and Big M brainstormed better
and more sustainable business ideas. Big M had once worked at “The Villa”- a
health care facility for seniors, the mentally challenged, and the disabled. The North has always had a shortage of health care professionals
and health care facilities are no exception. The new business idea was set
in motion and soon, we received our first three residents.
Thinking back on my earlier years, money must
not have been that tight, because I joined the swim team in 1985. I was
optimistic of becoming an Olympic diver, but The North had no such program so I
joined the competitive swim team; I think I was actually quite good considering
I had never had a swim lesson in my life. My best strokes were the Butterfly
and Backstroke.
I attended many competitions and made several
good friends. I really enjoyed my time on the team. My father even got
involved by acting as an official timekeeper for several of the local meets. I
travelled all over Ontario, Québec, and the US attending competitions. Ironically, I
quit because Big M told me I would never place first because I was simply not
good enough, and I honestly got tired of coming home after a meet, having
beat my previous time, only to be asked if I placed first and seeing her
disappointment/satisfied little smirk when I said no. Big M’s niece, Sally was
“an excellent swimmer destined for the podium at the Olympics"
and "wouldn’t that be fantastic?” I should mention that even though I would beg
her to come and watch me swim, or cheer me on during a competition, in the two
years I was on the team, she attended only one practice. I prefer to believe I
was probably a swimmer with fantastic potential and just needed to continue my
training, but somehow she made quitting the team my idea. I know it is not
something I would have chosen myself because it got me away from her three to four
times a week for 3 hours every time.
Later, in my 40s, I shared the way I felt growing up with my dad – fat, stupid, ugly, not good enough, useless,
inadequate, etc.; he LAUGHED OUT LOUD and said “why would you even believe
that? Don’t be ridiculous.” He also loves to tell me to "Stop living in the past." Shame on me for not seeing the forest for the
trees, for not seeing he had zero compassion or empathy for me, what I felt, or
how my treatment affected me; nor how damaging the entire experience had
been. My entire experience was dismissed in a loud, raucous bout of laughter. He
responded in the exact same manner when I invited him to come celebrate
Christmas with us after moving into my first house, following the birth of his
first granddaughter. Growing up he had always told me Christmas was his
favourite holiday. The laugh, THAT laugh, is the “how are you possibly this
ridiculous?” laugh. I hate that laugh more than I hate his constant nervous
throat clearing habit.
Granny
Granny arrived to us from the local hospital
to be comfortable until she died. Granny had a hospital bed and stayed in room
#4 just outside our main apartment door. Granny’s family placed her in our care
because they were not able to provide the near 24-hour care required for the
bedridden family matriarch. This was my first time seeing anyone this old. As a
kid, I was scared because I was told she was dying; I had no idea what that
meant, why or how death would happen, and I may or may not have believed that
old age was contagious and I might die if I touched her. Was everyone born with a certain amount of heartbeats and then your heart just stops - maybe mid-sentence? In fairness, I was in sixth grade and no one really explained what was going on.
One day, Big M simply informed me that Granny
was my responsibility to care for – I would feed her, read to her, learn to
treat her bedsores, administer medication, and be her nurse when I was at home.
Why was she my responsibility? According to Big M, I lack compassion and
empathy for others; I have cold eyes and Big M felt like the perfect person to teach
me these valuable life skills.
I complied and read to Granny and spent much
of my free time watching her sleep in her room or holding her hand (Terrified she would just die while I watched.) I stayed with
her through her death rattle and gingerly applied special medicated powder to her
bedsores. She passed overnight, thankfully for me.
Randy
Randy was my absolute favourite patient who
ever lived in our house. Randy lived in room #1. In fifth grade, I had no idea
what mental health was; or what any of the disorders meant. Randy was young, in
his mid-20s I believe, and had shaggy brown hair, he was very slim, and suffered
from Schizophrenia.
I really wanted to be friends with Randy, but dad and Big M told me I had to be
wary of the crazy people because they hear voices. “Voices?” I thought… hmmmm
what do the voices say? To this day, I am fascinated by those with
Schizophrenia, I am definitely not afraid and I do not understand why I should
be.
(The language I use is very inappropriate
when I describe the human beings living in our house, but my parents are
callous individuals and I am using direct quotes from my childhood. In public,
I would be admonished for using these words to describe others, but these were
the words I was taught. I was never taught differently until I was older. Big M
is a racist, insensitive cunt in case you didn't already know)
One day one of the drunks from upstairs came
downstairs to say Randy was about to get his ass kicked by Mack Daddy. Jack was
not home so Big M was called to the second floor. Big M does not do stairs, she
is 420 pounds of butter so hefting herself up the stairs makes for one cranky,
out of breath fatty. I am stuck behind Big M, watching her waddle slowly up the
stairs while hearing the commotion in the common kitchen; I heard yelling and
mumbling. Once at the top of the stairs, the communal kitchen was just
off to the left. Randy is crouching down low, hiding behind the table. In one
fluid movement, Randy is on his feet, hand on his head holding on to his helmet
(colander) and is now pointing a wooden spoon as though it were a sabre in our
direction. Randy is wide-eyed and leans his head back just a bit and then leans
over the table and hisses “I am back from behind the moon, here to protect you and
the planet! Quick! Get in my trunk for our interplanetary travel.”
When Randy lunged forward again, Mack Daddy
caught him by the throat one handed and threatened to choke him if he did not
“shut his fucking mouth and go back to his fucking room”. Big M put herself
between Mack Daddy and Randy and in a shaky voice threatened to call the
police. I think Mack Daddy lost interest because he did not acknowledge her;
just turned around and finished warming his can of Chef Boyardee.
I legitimately feel schizophrenics should
write books. This was and still is the best science-fiction live action theatre
I have ever seen.
Carole
Carole also suffered from Schizophrenia and,
unfortunately, she was entertaining, but after a while, I avoided her because she was disturbing. Carole lived in room #3. Carole heard voices and she would in turn talk back to
them; I would often think she was speaking to me and would ask her to repeat
herself – one time she told me the voices told her to eat the dead. Her social
worker told us, at the time she was placed in our house, that Carole had been
found digging in the graveyard; presumably to eat the dead. Carole was not
permitted sharp objects in her room, as it was believed she would harm
herself or others, depending on what the voices instructed her to do.
After Carole had been living with us for a
few weeks, I started noticing a very odd smell. This was not a familiar scent,
but rather an unpleasant smell; over time, it got really bad and pungent.
Eventually, when Big M decided to leave the apartment walls to walk down the
hall, she noticed the unpleasant pungent odor in the hallway. Noticing that
Carole had locked her door, a violation of The House rules, Big M angrily
waddle-stomped to the office for the keys. Upon opening the door to Carole’s
room, Maeve sees that mothballs, several boxes of them, had been laid out around
the perimeter of the small room. Carole later told me that the mothballs
prevent the voices from coming into her room.
One day I noticed a large scab on Tiger’s back, near his tail and I asked dad about it. Dad said that Carole had tried to eat the cat after the voices had told her to do so. When I was at school one day, he had rescued Tiger from Carole’s clutches.
I always sprinted by her door after that.
Gerry
Gerry was one of the drunks who lived in our
rooming house – he was on the third floor. To my knowledge, I had not yet
visited the third floor and did not realize there was a floor after the second
floor. Ron, the alcoholic who used to walk me to school when I was in third
grade, is Gerry's brother. They have to live on separate floors because when
they get drunk they get into fistfights and Gerry is a mean son of a bitch.
Both Ron and Gerry worked in The House for
Jack and Maeve – it is far easier to
manipulate someone else to do your (literal) dirty work. Ron was the handyman
on good days; meaning the weeks after Welfare Cheque Day. Before losing himself
at the bottom of a bottle, Ron was a professional house and commercial painter.
Truth be told, he was great at it even on the sauce. Ron also changed the
flooring when needed; which was often because all the men smoked in their rooms
and burning the linoleum was sport. Ron also cleaned all the main areas in
exchange for rent.
When we had Granny and had all five of the first
floor rooms filled with patients, Gerry became the nighttime security guard.
Gerry was one of Jack’s favourite drunks in that house – I have no idea why
because Gerry was a jerk. He was short, mean, he thought he was funny but he
was cruel, and he was also always drunk. He liked to follow my dad around so I
assume dad liked Gerry for the ego boost.
As time went on, Gerry became less and less
reliable. After receiving his Welfare cheque one month, Gerry spent four days
drunk and got reprimanded by Jack. Roxanne had left her camera upstairs in the
communal kitchen and when she retrieved it the next day, noticed scratches that
definitely appeared to have been done with intent. We developed the
film after noticing there were no shots left and hoping to catch a glimpse of
the culprit. We saw it was Gerry. We showed the picture to Jack and despite
being faced with a blurry (yes), but very distinguishable picture of Gerry; he
refused to acknowledge it and blamed Roxanne instead.
A few months later Gerry was fired for
getting drunk and sleeping on the job. At the time, Gerry’s role was not
replaced and I think my dad would patrol every few hours when he woke up. Weekends, I gladly volunteered to do an overnight ‘shift’ so I could earn
$50 and spend the day at the ski hill. One night, I woke up to loud, deafening
ringing bells – the fire alarm had been pulled and there were loud shouts of
“FIRE!” followed by stomping coming from the fire escape –I could smell fire!
Instinctively I went to the wall phone and rang 911.
Big M ushered us next door to a neighbour’s
house where we walked down the length of the house and stood in the laneway
watching the entire third floor of our house burn. Roxanne asked about popcorn
to watch the show. It was about 2:00 am and we later found out that Gerry had
intentionally set the fire as retaliation for losing his job as nighttime
security guard. Not only did he set the fire after getting intoxicated, but he
also cut the phone lines so no one could call 911 from the upstairs telephone
or the payphone out front. In my moment of ‘calm’ -I was not afraid of the
fire, I don’t remember feeling anything; I remember the smell, the sounds, the
look of panic on everyone’s face, but I just felt… normal with all my faculties
intact. I was the only one who had called 911.
Once the house fire damage was repaired, my
surprise was my very own bedroom! Our large front laundry room became my
bedroom and Jack’s former office became the new closet-sized laundry room while
Big M’s music room became the office for the business. In reality, Big M only
used the music room to listen to Niel Diamond really loud after arguing with
Jack. A better name would be the sulking room. Big M moved her sound system and
chair to the living room.
Though I was happy to have my own room, it
was my first time EVER – I hated the colour pink. When I opened my bedroom
door, fortunately my excitement hid my disappointment at seeing pale pink
walls, white with pink striped wallpaper and a deep burgundy carpet. The carpet
was super plush and they splurged on the under pad. I had a built-in desk, a
few shelves built-in to my closet next to my desk, a double bed and two
dressers along with a cedar chest; apparently, it was my “hope chest” and would
be filled with crap I would need to be an adult. My room was so full with
furniture I could barely move in it – but it WAS ALL MINE and the door locked!
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