CHAPTER 1

I grew up on a farm in Kelowna, British Columbia, Canada. I hadloving parents and two older brothers. Life was great. We had afew cows, a horse, chickens, and a lot of room to play and explore.We spent most of our time outside playing and tending to the needsof farm life. Of course the chores weren't so much fun, but we allneeded to do our part. Like most parents in that time, our parentsused farm chores as a punishment if we were out of line. Ourparents never beat us or abused us. The farm was wonderful.

On special holidays, the neighbouring families all got togetherto celebrate. We went ice-skating on frozen ponds, had bonfiresfor Halloween, and had Easter egg hunts. There was always anadventure.

One of the neighboring families had eleven children. It wasalways easy to put a baseball team or soccer team together.

The youngest of the kids, I followed the older ones in all I did.I always looked up to my brothers and the others. Whether it wasriding our bikes down the steep hills or riding the horses up intothe mountains that surrounded our farms, I went along with theirplans.

At one point my parents took my brothers and me aside toinform us they were taking in two more children as foster kids.They lived on another farm next to ours. I was too young tounderstand why, but I do remember a strange feeling when theyjoined our family. We now had a new brother and sister. I was stillthe youngest child.

My parents didn't have much money, but they always providedeverything we needed. My mother worked in a bank, and Dadworked at a boat-building plant. They worked at their jobs allweek, and in the evenings and on weekends they worked on thefarm, all of us helping where we could. My dad taught us how tocare for the farm, and Mom taught us how to care for the homeand ourselves. There was never a man's job or a woman's job;we all worked together to complete whatever tasks needed to bedone.

We played different sports in the community—mostly baseballand soccer. I remember Mom and Dad coming to some of theevents, but because of work they couldn't attend all of them. In thefarming community, a skating rink was built, and all the differentfamilies did their part to clean the ice and maintain the rink. It wasoutdoors in the fresh air. I always loved going to the rink.

We were a happy family. We didn't have much, but we werehappy. I have to say in all my years I never saw or heard myparents argue. Life as a young child seemed perfect. Often wewould go camping in the hills, where we did lots of fishing, andusually another family would join us. We went on big family tripsto Disneyland and Hawaii, and again other farming families werewith us.

I knew it took a lot of sacrifice and hard work to go on thoseholidays. It was just the way things were then. Often my mothermade our T-shirts and pants, and there were a lot of hand-me-downs,especially for me, the youngest. My first bike was puttogether with spare parts. Of course I wanted what other kidswere getting. I think that's normal for a child, but in our lives wewere happy.

Mom always said I was the quiet one, playing by myself forhours indoors with board games or outside with my toys. I lovedmy parents and brothers very much, but I never became close tomy foster brother and sister.

Every so often, I went for a sleepover at a friend's home or afriend came to our farm. Everything was wonderful—or at leastit seemed that way on the outside. While everything seemed sohappy, there was a darkness, a secret I was afraid to speak toanyone about, a secret that began when I was in the third grade andhas stayed inside me to this day. I held this fear within because ofwhat might happen to me if I spoke of it. It never stopped but grewlike an infection spreading from one form to another. It stayed withme always, growing as I grew. I buried this fear deep inside me, tooafraid to tell another soul.

CHAPTER 2

As in any normal family, there were times when we childrenfought over silly things, but Mom and Dad always resolvedour disagreements. The things I saw on our neighbours' farm (theone with the eleven children) I'll never forget. It seemed from achild's point of view that there was constantly screaming, fighting,and swearing coming from their farmhouse. I witnessed on manyoccasions one brother beating another and sisters fighting sisters. Iremember watching the father chasing the boys with a two-by-fourto beat them. It terrified me. I felt very sorry for the kids on thatfarm and was grateful my parents weren't that way. When we wentto their home to play, I was always afraid of what their father mightdo to me. He never did a thing to me, but the fear was always there.I could never understand why there seemed to be so much hate inthat home. Fear only seemed to grow inside me, but I never spokeof it. I was very happy my mom and dad loved us.

I believe school is where my life changed dramatically. Therewas a boy in my third-grade class. He lived about ten miles awayfrom my home on another farm. He changed my life forever. Anyinnocence I had was lost. The happy, quiet little boy that had sucha loving family was about to begin a new chapter in his life. Anyfears I already had were about to grow tenfold.

I'll never forget that first day. The school was small, with gradesone and two in one room and grades three and four in another. Itwas a small farming community schoolhouse. There was a littlefield where we could play sports outside, and in the winter monthswe played in the basement.

The boy's name was Luke (I won't use his last name). Thefirst time I saw him in our class, I was afraid of him. Even thoughhe was much smaller than I was, the look he gave me made meshudder. His eyes seemed fixed on me. His grin was not thatof a boy who wanted to make friends. I was so afraid I left theclassroom and ran into the hall. It was as if I knew what was tocome. Tears formed, and I gasped for breath. I trembled, and yethe had not said a word to me.

It was a sunny spring day, and we were sent outside to playat recess or lunch breaks. The first recess bell rang, and all thechildren happily ran outside to play. I recall trying to think of anexcuse to tell my teacher—something that could keep me inside. Itold her I wasn't feeling well and asked if I could please stay insidefor recess. I was relieved when she said okay. I felt safe, but itdidn't last. Lunchtime was coming soon. With recess over, the kidsbegan to fill the classroom again. Sitting at my desk, I tried not tolook up. I didn't want to see him. When he entered the room, hiseyes were fixed on me, no grin on his face—only a look of anger,hatred. I swallowed the lump in my throat. My mind racing, I wasterrified.

Our class continued, my mind occupied with the lessons fromour teacher. When the lunch bell rang, I was startled. In a splitsecond, fear flowed through my body. Again all the kids ran outsideto play. I panicked, wondering what to do. My teacher approachedme and asked if I was feeling better. I said no, but she thought thefresh air would do me good. She told me I should go outside butshouldn't be too active. I trembled, gathered my lunch, and slowlywalked towards the door.

Outside it was warm, the sun beating down. I stepped out thedoor, scanning the playground for Luke. Relieved that I couldn'tsee him, I walked down the stairs. My ears were filled with theschoolyard sounds of kids playing. As I reached the bottom of thestairs, there he was, waiting for me. He glanced up to the doorsand saw no teachers. With those burning eyes, he glared at me,pointed to the side of the school, and pushed me. He told me towalk around the corner, out of the view of the windows. Shaking,I obeyed. My terror grew with every step I took, and Luke followedclose behind me. Then it happened—a sharp slap to the side ofmy head. I tried to cover my face, but the slaps turned to punches.Luke hit me repeatedly, laughing. His eyes seemed crazed. Hewouldn't stop. I'm sure it was only a minute, but for me it seemedlike hours. When he finished, he told me not to say a word or itwould be worse the next time. He just walked away like nothinghad happened at all.

I lay against the side of the school sobbing, thinking of hiswords. Next time! Was this going to happen again? I wanted somuch to tell the teacher, but all I could think of were his threateningwords.

When I got home from school, my parents asked how my daywas. Of course I lied; I told them everything was fine. It wasn't. Iwas sad and terrified to return the following day. Not only did Inot realize the pain I was keeping inside, but it was the beginningof telling lies.

CHAPTER 3

The next day Luke seemed different. It seemed like now hewanted to be friends. How untrue that was. A few days passedwith no beatings, but the demands and bullying continued. I knewmore beatings were coming; it was in his eyes. As time passed, Ibegan to learn when a beating was about to happen. He alwaysopened his eyes wide and curled his lips, his body shaking and hisfists clenched tightly. The beatings became regular. This look ofhis would follow me for years to come.

I was in fear at the thought of going to school. I wanted to avoidhim, but it was impossible in a small community. I didn't realizeit at the time, but he slowly took control of my life. The beatingsbecame more frequent, and my fear grew deeper. I was no longerafraid of punishment from my parents. I feared Luke and never saida word. I remember going to play soccer on the sports team. As Isaid earlier, my parents couldn't always be at the games. At timesI would walk to the games or ride my bike. On one occasion thegame finished and I began the long walk home; it was about sevenmiles. I heard shouting behind me. It was Luke standing in theback of his brother's pick-up truck. His older brother was driving,and they chased after me. I ran through yards, jumping fences anddoing all I could to get away from them, but I couldn't. They caughtme. I was sick with fear.

I pleaded with him not to hurt me, but it didn't matter. Ireceived another hard beating from him as his brother stood bylaughing at me and encouraging Luke. Still I told no one, too afraidto speak about it. There were times he would tell me to come tohis house for a sleepover. I never wanted to, but by this time Lukeruled my young life, and beatings took place every second day. Iwould always go and would always be beaten. Whenever I wasasked about my cuts and bruises, I simply lied and said I had gotthem when playing out on the farm. I knew if I spoke, the beatingswould only become worse.

By seventh grade, my life was his. Everything he told me todo, I did, from hitting other kids to making bad comments tothe teachers, because of the fear inside me. I remember on theschool bus one day another kid was bothering my brother, andwithout hesitation my oldest brother put a stop to it. This kid neverbothered my brother again. I wished so much my brother wouldprotect me too, but I couldn't tell him what was happening to me.I was too afraid of what Luke would do to me.

I felt hopeless, with nowhere to turn. I was afraid wheneverI left the house. I was filled with dreams of dying and woke atnight crying. The fear only grew. At that point anything bad thathappened to me stayed inside me, and more bad was coming.

Some of the children on the neighboring farm were in now intheir late teens and early twenties. I had always got along withthem and felt safe when I was with them. I always felt sorry becauseof the things they went through. One night I was playing outside,and one of the older boys told me to come with him to an oldcar out in the field on the farm. I did without hesitation. I wasn'tafraid of him; I trusted him. That changed that night. He begantouching me and told me to do the same to him. Eventually he hadme performing sexual acts on him. I was sickened and now had anew fear. He was someone I had trusted. I knew I couldn't say aword to anyone—at least, that's how I felt.

Not only did I continue to get beaten by Luke, but now on adaily basis the neighbour would take me out to the farm, whether itwas to the old car, to the barn, or just out in the field. I wanted somuch to die. I wanted someone to make it all stop, but I could neversay a word. Why? Because I was terrified of what would happento me. Somehow I felt as if I was the one doing things wrong. I feltsomehow I would be punished and it still wouldn't stop what washappening to me.

I spent more and more time alone, thinking, crying, and wishingI was dead. I think my parents noticed a change in my behaviour,but probably they thought I was just growing up, and change isnormal. As for me, nothing was normal. I was changing. I wasn't aquiet little boy anymore. I began to hate. I hated the people aroundme and hated being alive. I hated my family for not helping me. Ihated being hit or hurt. I was changing for the worse.

CHAPTER 4

At this time, Luke had almost complete control over me. If hesaid to break into a car or house, I would do it. If he toldme to beat up another kid, I would obey. It made me sick insideall the time, but I was still deathly afraid of this kid half my size.In my mind, he was a giant to be feared. I wanted it all to stop.Thoughts of ending my own life filled my mind. I started to hatebeing alive.

I'm sure some of you reading this don't understand why Iwouldn't just tell someone what was happening to me. The fear hadpenetrated my soul so deeply that I couldn't see a way out.

I was twelve years old now, always wishing that the little boyI had once been could return. I carried a sinking feeling with meevery day. My wonderful family seemed far away. I was alwaysthere, but I felt like an outsider looking in. I was a liar, a thief.The good morals I was born with were being buried deep inside,overwhelmed by fear. My parents had moved to a new homeoverlooking Kelowna. I had started to hitchhike everywhere Iwanted to go. One night a man stopped to offer me a ride. I jumpedin the car, and he sped off. He told me he needed to stop at hishome first and then would give me a ride to where I was going. Wearrived at his home, a trailer in an orchard. He told me to comeinside, because he would be a few minutes getting his things. Like afool, I did as he said. I was watching TV and could hear him in theback room talking with someone else. Time went on, and I beganto fall asleep. When I woke, he and his friend were both fondlingme and forced themselves on me. I tried to fight back, but I was justa kid; they were both adults. When they were finished with me, theone man took me in his car and dropped me off in the hills outsideof town. He told me not to say a word or they would find me. I wasscared to death. I never said a word to anyone. What would peoplethink? Would they even believe my story? I kept it locked up inside.My hatred for pain, whether physical or mental, grew daily.

One day after a basketball game I was preparing to walk toMom and Dad's new home. The mother of one of the playersoffered me a ride home. When they dropped me off, I beganwalking down our driveway, and there he was. Luke was waitingwith a few other guys. He told me we were going to steal a carand go to California. I knew it was trouble, but it was Luke, andI always listened to him. He said we were going to rob from myparents, brothers, and sister, and as always, I did what he told me.Now in grade eight, I had experienced five years of constant abuseand bullying from Luke. He controlled me with fear. The beatingsnever slowed, as sad as it is to say. This was now normal for me.Yet inside I was screaming for someone to help make it all stop. Ifanything, the beatings became worse—he had friends who joinedin the punishment he gave me.

As much as I didn't want to go with them, I did. I was shockedat the thought of going all the way to California and terrified ofwhat Luke might do to me. I didn't want to steal from my family,but my fear of Luke was in control. We stole all we could carry—alcohol,money my brother's clothing, my sister's coin collection.I hated myself, but I still did it. I had become what I hated. I hadbecome Luke.