Chapter One:

Today seems to be the quietest day of my entire life. Or should I say, perhaps the start of something called peace. I am pulled by a deep longing to make sure even though I am filled by the warmth of love, I am not sad but would have loved to be a part of it all. My family seemed to be content too. That helps. For a moment my life flashes before my eyes.

To be the youngest makes you the baby in the family. I appreciated every moment that I held my mother's hand anywhere I walked with her; it was somehow a comfort just to know that you had someone whose love surrounded you so completely, and I bathed in its warmth all the time. Does this make me a mommy's boy? I certainly hope not! It made me appreciate women far more. At age 11 I used to joke with my mom, saying that even if I ever had a girlfriend, I would still need her arm. My mother would always joke back:

'Jordi, you will never have a girlfriend when your best friend is your dog!'

Champ was my only friend as a boy. I used to sit in his kennel to keep him company or hide there when I knew I'd been naughty. Knowing they wouldn't dare to come close to me because I had my best friend to protect me. We were so close that I often ate my snacks in the kennel too. When my mother caught me doing it I could hear her soft voice saying with a sigh. 'That boy and his dog …'

We lived on the military base since my dad sold the house and being in the army helped at least when you were a struggling father trying to make ends meet.

And then my mother left. I knew that it was never what she intended to do because of her love for us. At night I would hear the shouting, her saying that she couldn't do it anymore and was moving out, I heard doors opening and banging all the time. I knew my father was to blame; for even at my tender age I could see how he looked at the much younger women and enjoyed the attention they gave him when mom was not aware. I even caught my dad a few times when he was expected to be on duty, having good times with his female work colleagues.

I was not a very nosy child, but I was always very aware of the emotions and feelings of everyone around me. Through being raised by my mother and spending time with her, I became very tuned-in with my feelings. When he was home, my father and his mobile phone seemed to be joined at the hip.

So yes, my mother eventually had enough and just walked out one day without saying goodbye. She made the decision for us because she wanted our environment to stay the same, but how could it really? She decided that we would be better off with a roof over our heads and somewhere safe and stable to live while she found her feet. That night was the first in my childhood that I spent crying, feeling both her pain and mine deeply. At that very moment, I felt that the only lifeline in my life had been ripped away.

I was never sure if I was really a mama's boy, but I was definitely sure that my sister was the apple of my dad's eye - so you can imagine who got all of his attention when my mom left.

I had to navigate the changes going on with my body and the effects of growing up on my own.

I was never good enough for Mr. Ron October. In his eyes I was too soft, or not enough of a man. He wanted a boy that played rugby or any sport to his liking that would toughen me up. He dealt with all the pain he felt by making fun of me when he was actually looking for someone to blame, or just to get to my mother, but she wasn't around anymore.

All the pain of the no-good-mother came my way. Sometimes my sister would defend me, but it became just as hard for her being a girl with no mother to guide her or just be around her. This was also the cause of her hatred for me, or rather her dislike. I was always on the defence of Mom, having spent most of my time with her I knew how she tried to hide all her tears from her children every day.

When my sister was in Grade 11 and I in Grade 10, and a mere 15 or almost 16 years old, we struggled not having our mother around and a father who was out of the house most of the time. So we kids learned on our own how to grow up and this we had to do very fast. Everything that my father did, I intentionally did the opposite, for nothing was worth a lesson to be learned from him. I think I had the growing into a young man thing under control, and my sister Abby was a good example as it seemed much easier for her.

People often think that girls need their mothers most, but in our house I needed her more, especially during the week. Going to her every second weekend was not working that well lately, for we had our lives to live too. So we only saw her when we wanted to, although I could remember a time just after she left when I could not wait for the weekends to be with her.

I loved it when my sister, in her selfish and stub-born thinking, tried to punish Mom for leaving by not visiting her. On those weekends, I learnt to cook with my mother's guidance. I learnt that cooking was a great stress reliever. Mom had started teaching me before she left, but this was also where the arguments originated. My father would ask my mother why she was doing it because I would become a 'faggot' doing such girly things. She then said that he needed to make time to teach me the sports he wanted me to learn, which he never did.

My father preferred to watch sports. How could one love something that keeps you in front of the television? When I asked to be taught knitting, my father almost had a heart attack. I began to use cooking as a weapon in my house and got many things right with my sister when I offered to cook.

At age 14 I had to keep up with voice changes, which was just agony, because everyone felt the need to comment on it. Not to mention my scrotum that threatened to explode out of my skin - a penis that seemed to not stop growing and hair everywhere. It was really scary and very frustrating. The shaving business was just crazy, but the school threatened to write letters if I did not clean up. I had to look like a washed-up potato while pimples popped out everywhere they weren't supposed to. It was really the most embarrassing part of becoming a man that I can remember because it affected me so.

As boys, we never speak about things, so being around Abby and her friends and hearing their awful conversations about the things happening to their bodies, and what they do was just plain scary. I knew about menstruation, but never expected the reality of blood in the toilet and sometimes on my sister's clothing. I was so afraid my sister would die that I embarrassed her out of my lack of knowledge. I could not play with her as we used to because she would be friendly one moment and the next become a demon.

One thing I did like was when her friends tried to rub themselves against me or touch me. It made me very aware that things were happening to my body, but the good feelings never lasted long. I was clueless sometimes with those girls and I wondered what was wrong with them, the head-to-toe blushing and giggling whenever a guy approached, drove me crazy it was really so stupid. A guy just had to look at a girl and she got the giggles about it, was that how they coped with their 'inner demon' called puberty?

What I really wanted was to have the attention of that tall girl who seemed to stand out. She wasn't just pretty but seemed less stupid than her friends; my sister included. Every now and then she would look at me which made me sweat all over places. Even my balls filled up whenever she did it; how embarrassing sometimes. I could not speak when I was around them, especially Sam.

Sometimes Abby would sarcastically call me by my full name, like a mother: Jordan and not Jordi as everyone called me this when I, the pervert, was caught staring at Sam. This in turn made me blush like a stupid girl and made her whole group of girls laugh. God, I hated my sister sometimes. Okay, most of the time.

When I walked away, I could hear Sam defend me and I would turn back just to see if she really was on my side. That feeling would at least help me through those miserable days.

School sucked big time, especially when we had boring teachers who we needed to correct all the time. I couldn't wait for break-time to be with my friends. It was all about happy times just 'vibing' together and imitating our favourite rap artists. Then it was back to class and back to the old boring teachers that needed to retire already.

Telling this truth to the face of our history teacher got me in trouble and I hated detention. I knew I would not hear the end of it at home. I used to get into trouble a lot at school because of us clowning around, but my grades never seemed to suffer.

Detention at school was the most boring time, worth nothing more than to bloody waste your time. If we could have learnt something constructive, then it would have benefitted me. I hate boredom, so two days later I found myself in detention again. The longest detention followed thereafter.

My friends decided to become earthy and were almost caught. So I made a stupid decision and told them to throw it to me. I knew that when I was tested at least I would be clean, because I was regularly tested when I ran for the province.

Well, I was caught in possession of the joint. I thought I would get off easily, being the athlete, but no such luck. It sucked. I knew that Abby would not be too happy because it meant that she would have to do my chores and cooking that day and other days to come. Well, I was in trouble, so there was nothing I could do other than see it through.

Knowing that there would be a phone call coming that afternoon to inform my dad, I found myself very close to the phone waiting. I picked the phone up when the principal called. I must have sounded pretty close to a grown man because I played the part of Mr. October and told the principle that he should do what he thought best under the circumstances and that sending my poor excuse of a son to school, was just a waste of time.