A Steemit Original - A Lifetime of Seeking Happiness - Part 1

Memoir of a runaway girl - A true story! 

 Preface 

 I had the beginnings of a good childhood growing up in the early 1960’s. Little things meant so much to me during those times. Simple things like walking to the store and buying candy for only a penny. My mom use to also participate in the local stamp reward program at the grocery store, and we would get to ogle over all the neat toys and gifts we could get free.    

 I long for those days to return, and I know they never will.  Yet something inside of me never allows me to give up hope.

 My life began beautifully. I never saw the chaotic mess that would eventually evolve.     People have often goaded me to share my incredible experiences in a book. After many years of fascinating but traumatizing events in my life, I need to share my story. 

As this story progresses you will find decisions I have made, paths I’ve taken, things I regret, and things I’m happy I’ve done.  

These life lessons have taken me 47 years to learn. I now hand them to you in hopes that you’ll be entertained and use this knowledge to prevent any of it from happening to you. 

Let’s begin. 

 Chapter 1 The Early Years - Part 1

I was born in a small town called Lethbridge, near Calgary. It was full of life and seemed to be a great place to live.  We were the typical Caucasian family. All of our relatives were born in Alberta.  Every Sunday we’d drive around visiting family. I loved that.  Unfortunately those days were short lived. To this day, I do not understand why I am still alive.  I been in too many situations that could have resulted in my death. I’ll explain how it began.  I had brown, straight hair that hung below my shoulders. I had blue eyes and always wore halter-tops with shorts in the summer. In the winter, I wore jeans and t-shirts.  I was very tomboyish; I wore what was practical.   I wasn’t your typical girly girl.  

My father was formerly in the Canadian Navy and had tattoos to prove it. He was quiet and didn’t talk much, unless he was drinking.  He was only 5’8” tall, but very stocky and strong.  He had a short temper, so we did our best not to aggravate him.    My Dad was always in the auto profession for as long as I could remember. The many used cars that came and went from our driveway would have made most people think we ran a used car lot.    

Dad loved stock car racing. Neighborhood windows would rattle on the weekends, as he would tune up his own race car engine.  In the 70’s, fun like this was possible because everyone on the street knew each other.  Times were much different then; neighbors knew each other by name, and actually socialized.  The friendly neighborhood dynamics in those days allowed people to have a lot more tolerance with each another.    To give an example, if Dad had revved his race car engine in his driveway today, it wouldn’t be long before a bylaw officer would show up and give him a ticket.  

However, in the 70’s, a typical neighbor might peer out of their window and chuckle “Bill’s at it again! I think I’m going to go over there and have a look and see how he’s doing.”  My mother was a great cook and a neat freak. She was tall and thin, and usually wore a dress in those days. She always had her hair done up, and was very pretty. I didn’t mind helping her around the house, and I enjoyed learning how to cook. She made the best pies. I’d sneak small paper-thin slices from left over pie in the fridge and sneak off to the washroom to eat them. 

  I have an older sister, and a younger brother.  That makes me the middle child of the family.  If you have ever heard the adage: the middle child is easily forgotten, it is true.   Both of my siblings garnered all of the attention, and through no fault of my own, I was figuratively shrouded after my brother was born.  

My younger brother was the sunshine of my father’s eyes, especially since he always wanted a son. It was unfortunate for my father that he ended up having two daughters first. When my brother was born, it brought an entire new problem to our family dynamic. He was curious, adventurous, and mischievous to say the least.  

  

I recall the time he was about five years old when he played with matches in the laundry room where we had old wood shelves and cloth curtains draping over them. Well we found out quite fast that those items are extremely flammable. Dad ran downstairs with a fire extinguisher and frantically worked on getting the fire out. 

Part 2 tomorrow...