I was born with club feet, deaf in both ears, and borderline retardation. My dad died of tuberculosis (TB) about the time that I was born. And later the social service agency came to take the children away from my mom because they said she had TB too, but she did not have it. Social service agency took me to residential school first, only to be rejected by the residential school, because of my deficits. So I was made ward of the courts and then placed in the foster care system. The last foster home that I was put in was the Williams when I was five years old. I learned to read lips, and I remember there were a lot of yelling and hitting going on. But I rather remember the good things like operations on my feet and ears, and the Williams taking me fishing on weekends.
Doctors were not guaranteeing that I would walk or hear after having series of operations on my feet and ears. When I had operations on my feet, I was in such horrific pain, I remember an angel coming every night to hold me until I fell asleep. My last operation on my feet was when I was ten years old where I was then able to walk straight. I had series of ear operations in my ears, and the first time I heard was 12 years old. I remember looking out the second-floor window of Victoria General Hospital and seeing a blue jay flapping his wings as he was pollinating on the flower buds on the tree. I was able to hear people talking on the sidewalk outside the Hospital. But what hurt my ears the most was the cars honking their horn, and I asked the doctor to make me deaf. He laughed and said he would give me ear plugs to wear to buffer the loud noises. One day when I was 13 years old, I remember coming home from school all happy on a Friday afternoon. My former foster mother went to grab my ear and drag me to my room and started yelling at me about how and why there was a stain on her dresser since she told me numerous time no food or drink in my room. She repeatedly banged my head on top of it to ask me questions about why and how the stain got there. When she saw that I was bleeding, she dragged me into the kitchen to continue her yelling at me to ask when did this happen and why. Because she towered over me, I was scared of her. I could not answer her, and I wish she understood that. She went to hit me, and I stopped her hand from hitting me, and I said: "do not hit me anymore." She got flustered at what I had done, and sent me to my room and said: "wait till your dad gets home." He got home like clockwork at 4:30 pm from the mill and Mrs. Williams called Mr. Williams into the living room, said she wanted to talk about what I had done earlier, that I stopped her from hitting me. They talked about me for a while, and my foster dad became angry at what I did, he stormed into my bedroom, and he punched me for the first time, and said: "Do not ever do that again.". Then he went back to the living room to talk some more about what to do with me. They called me into the living room, and I was expecting to get disciplined with a spanking and, or grounded, but nothing prepared me for what they were about to say. As I looked right at my foster mother, she said to me that my presence was no longer needed there anymore, that she gave me two weeks to get out. If I were not out in two weeks, she would throw my things out. I was devastated, and that is when I died inside. Social Service could not find me another foster home because potential parents said they were looking for a baby or someone younger than me. So I was put in independent living, meaning living on my own. The terrifying thing happened to me two weeks after I moved out is when I went for a walk on a sunny Sunday afternoon, and I got tired, so I stopped to sit on a bench, big mistake. A van drove up and asked for directions, and I told him which way he should go. He drove off but then stopped to back up. He rolled down his window and asked if I could show him. After thinking about it, I stupidly said yes, and got into the van, because he promised to let me off where I wanted to be dropped off. When it came time for him to let me off, he did not stop and kept driving to take me up to the mountains behind the reserve. Once we got up the mountains, he put a knife to my throat and said for me to take my pants off. I got scared, and froze, and he said if I did not, he would kill me. I decided to live, so I did everything that he told me because I did not want to get killed. After he finished with me, he said, now take all of your close off, and held a knife to my throat. As he did this, I thought for sure I would get killed. I did remove my clothes, and he started driving off and said for me to get out. But before I did, he said if I were to tell anyone, he would kill me.
I jumped out of the van, and as I was rolling, I read the last three digits of his license plate. As I was walking home naked, there lurked a wild animal, and even he did not want me. Thank God, probably I was too skinny. Once I got home, people asked what had happened. I told them that I was kidnapped, raped, almost killed, and left for dead up in the mountains. I had helped to phone the police, and they came, I said that I would only talk to a women police officer. After they had taken all the information, they left. It took the police two weeks to find him; he was getting ready to go. I was summoned to court so that I could identify him. When that time came, I had to walk by him, and as I was doing so, he said: "I didn't kill you up in the mountains, but I will kill you when I get out of jail.". I was scared, and I did point him out, and then I was able to leave. It was from that time I lived my life in fear because the courts only gave him five years, which meant he would be out in three years with good behavior. I lived in fear most of my life from the age of sixteen years old. It was not until I got married at forty years old, I told my wife what had happened to me years earlier, and she said that I am the most amazing person. I said to her I needed to go back to the mountain to forgive the guy that kidnapped, raped, almost killed me, and leaving me for dead. I drove my wife to where this man first picked me up, and we prayed there. Then we drove to the mountain, and when we got there, I got out of the car remembering what had happened. I looked around, and I reached my hand out in peace and said: "I forgive you, and I let you go.". I felt his spirit go. These days a filmmaker, I started a movie company called: "BGW Film Studio" where I want to concentrate on documentaries on the First Nations People. I am open to other scripts, such as for television, and screenplays.