The tale of the Trike
Most of my early memories started around the age of five. I do have earlier memories, sitting on the floor in our new home on East 16th street, eating KFC???. Also that same night, of my sisters leaning against a wall, heads bobbing in sleep. Me, trying so hard to stay awake. I remember trying so hard to keep them sitting up straight, like little soldiers lined up against the wall. My parents working into the night to set up furniture.

Beds must have arrived sometime during the night, as I am sure that I woke up in one the next morning, a little annoyed as I realised that I too must have turned into a bobble head against the wall. But I was the big sister, so much older than the others,charged with the responsibility of looking after the younger ones. And yet I had succumbed to sleep just them. Me, at four years old, feeling as if I had failed, because I feel asleep on the job.I guess that my expectations of myself were high, and my sense of responsibility to watch for my family great.This sense of responsibility was about to be taken to a whole new level as we about to see.

I believe that I received my new tricycle as a Christmas gift, I could be wrong but that sounds right to me. In those days circa 1961, it was not unusual for my mother to send me to the store to buy a loaf of bread. So this particular day, in the spring of 61, I headed off to the store on my tricycle. If my memory servers me correctly (who knows for sure, as things are about to get really fuzzy), my tag along kid sister, pain in my ass already, had decided that she needed to come with. After much wailing on her part, after I complained about having to take her, off we went. In reality it was at most 2 streets away, kind of one over and one down, I guess with today's technology, I could just look that up on Goggle maps! Anyway, off we go on our errand  a nickel clutched in my palm , one eye on the kid sister, one eye looking out for traffic and the always reminded of "bad man".

Street one a breeze, around the corner we go, street two, just a wee bit downhill, suddenly very downhill, peddles on the trike spinning so fast.... way too fast... flying.... can't stop the motion of the spinning peddles, danger looming ahead, King Eddy dead ahead and coming up fast!!!! I remember yelling at "the kid" to pull up onto the grass. Somehow I knew that if she did that now, she would be safe, maybe I had done this before, must have, how else would I known that doing so would slow her down.

What became of the next few weeks is/was a complete blank to me. It's interesting to note that just now, for the first time in close 53 years, I wonder now, what my sister saw that day? Who took her back home? How did "they" know where to find out where we lived? Who told my mother what and when????? The short and the long of it is/was that I did save my sister, me one the other hand not so lucky.With those peddles flying so fast (I still see them,I still dream of them), there was no way in a billion years that I was not going to be flying out into that very busy street. I do not remember in any way, shape, or form, a single moment of it all. I never dream about it, nothing has ever snuck  up on my memories, nothing, nada. As far a my memory goes what comes next, never happened.

 As you might have guessed, I did go flying out onto the road, with all it's traffic and was struck by an oncoming bakery truck. I apparently flew through the air and landed across the street and skidded to a halt underneath a parked car. My mother always said that the only thing that saved me that day from having some deep facial scars, is the fact that I was wearing a coat with a hood. That coat and hood had shielded my body from  some very serious road rash. On the other hand it did not do too much to soften my landing. As it was on my head, the landing part of this adventure that is .I am told that I spent the better part of the week in the hospital in a coma. All I really remember was, that when I returned to Kindergarten a month or so later ,I had missed the popping of the corn using a magnifying glass and sunlight.

Flash forward some 11 years, to a very normal supper .All of us sitting around the kitchen table, doing normal things.Then a sudden change in the mood at the table, and a most unusual event, a chocolate cake appeared at the table and was placed in front of me. I remember looking up at my mom, with a very confused look on my face, she with tears in her eyes. Me, still having no idea what was going on, I knew it wasn't my birthday, I certainly had no  reason to celebrate an event, no outstanding report card, no awesome job done, to be rewarded for, What the hell was going on. Then my mom started to explain,me still trying to figure out what she was talking about. Mom continued with her explanation of why this day was so special. Through the tears, both her and mine and soon everyone else at the table, she explained that as of this day.A, gentleman whom I have never met, was to be relieved of a burden, that had been hanging over his head for some 11 years. As the story continued to unfold,the story goes something like this. Up until that day, the driver of he bakery truck was being held responsible for me. Over the past eleven years everyone had been waiting to see if I would become permanently disfigured or developed any kind of brain damage.

Well you could have knock me over with a feather. Some many thought travelled through my mind, years of feeling stupid, always being compared to my sister Linda, why was never as smart as she, I remember my dad yelling at me about how lazy I was with school work and why wasn't I getting better grades.To this day I want to shout to all those who thought me simple, lazy, or stupid. Here it is folks, the truth finally, I have a brain injury!!!

To this day I wonder about how much damage was done to my brain, hell my whole body. I know for sure that I have Fibromyalgia,  which causes me to live everyday with pain. I have always lived with pain, always needed more sleep, always had a difficult time keeping up with others. I never knew why, I wish I had known at a much earlier age that something was different about me. At the time, no one had things like physio,  you were lucky if you went to the dentist, we won't go there now, but really what a god awful experience that was back the day. I also required reading glasses at an early age, but did not get them right away. The cracks in my early life were getting wider by the day.

 I distinctly remember begging my sisters to walk on my back and step on my bum (aka bum of jello) as they loved to call out as they gleefully stepping up, applying the oh so pain receiving pressure, to my oh so sore back.So I have always had a bad back and these days the pain seems to be winning. In those days, no one was treated for anything really ,it was always a just go home and you\ll feel better in the morning. I am still waiting for my feel better mornings. I really would love to see what the inside of my brain looks like, is there some old scars that will tell the tale. of the long ago tissue damage. I want you to understand that this is not about me looking to hold someone else responsible for my condition. Just wish that I knew about it and maybe my teachers had been told ,so that I might have received some additional help in school.

All my life I have struggled with reading, spelling and math. Is that a right brain thing? I will need to do some research on the whole incident. I just want to be able to understand what happened to me ,so long ago. I should post my kindergarten picture, my face shows a child who has clearly been through some kind of trauma. Off to research some facts , see if I can dig up a report or two, will keep you posted. Just a last thought here. In my late twenties I went back to attend a post secondary school. What did I study... why Early Childhood Education of course. Hum, kind of  interesting, was I going back to fix my own inner child??? By the time I did go back to school, there was lots to fix and some life shaping moments, lurking just around the corner.                            

chapter one, the running begins

Many things have been travelling through my head these days. Great thing like what is the meaning of life, not the big questions, but the closer to home questions. 

What is the meaning in my life?

When I was young, I never gave much thought as to what  future might hold for me. 
I thought about lots of things. Things that were way closer to home, to my family. 
I grew up in a some what traditional family, mom stayed at home dad went to work. 
Blah ,blah ,you know the story, right? 

Life was not too bad, wait.... 
Flashback to me trying to run away from home. 
I might have been  5 years old. 

 I just now recall, how hurt my  feelings were.

 I have no memory of what made me angry or made me think that I needed to run away from home.  

But run I did.

I felt this overwhelming sense of utter despair, and my thinking that I was not wanted.

 I recall  packing something, in a handkerchief and tying it up,  like a hobo, I even recall thinking that I wish I had a stick to hang my belongings on.

 I prepared for the  climbing out the bedroom window. 
One leg up and over, two legs hanging down, now finger tips  sliding over the window sill, guess there is no going back. 
Escape complete. 
 At the the time the house was a bungalow, now it's a two story home.

 I remember it felt like an eternity had passed as I waited ,crouched by the stairs that lead up to the front door. 

I'm sure I huddled there for a couple of minutes, I really have no idea.

 I recall thinking that they (the intended victims of my disappearance aka my parents),would be missing me by now,
 that they would be frantic, 
worried out of their minds ,
 oh my god, they would be screaming,
 running around frantic, 
where is our Suzy?, 
 what had happened to her, 
how will we ever live without her!!!! 

Nope, not a single peep.

How could this be??
How could they not know that I was no longer in the house. 
How could they not know I was missing.  

I thought about all the times, my mom warned me about never going with a stranger, even if he offers you candy!! 

Ummm hello family, your precious, first born daughter is now outside of the house, running away from home, 
where she might meet a stranger walking along East 16 street,
who offers her candy!!!!

 Well now, wouldn't that really show them! 

I most likely thought about my Nana, my mothers mother, she and I always had a special bond. At this moment, I knew one thing for sure she loved me unconditionally. 

 Nana would never have let this happen! 

She would have come and found me the second I flung my leg over the window sill. 

Right now I would be eating cinnamon toast and drinking tea with her in the kitchen! She would tell me I was loved. It should be she who should be here watching out for me.

What the hell!!! 

Wish she was here now, not back home in Winnipeg!

Okay, so maybe I did not swear, but if I knew any curse words, surely I would be thinking them. 

A few more minutes pasted.

I was starting to get tire from crouching, just waiting for the moment when they would discover I was missing. 

What was taking them so long!!!

I climbed onto the front stairs, still mad, rethinking my situation. 
Well, now what? 

Should I really run away??? 
Where would I go ????
To my boyfriends house? 
Yes I had a boyfriend then, he was blond and a year older, Roy. Whom I believe , later became the Dean of Langara College in Vancouver . If he ever sees this post , I trust he will forgive me for my  unorthodox style of writing.
 Roys wife is an interior decorator. Almost fell off my chair the first time I saw her name in print linked to my 6 year old boyfriend. Roy and I loved to play Tinker toys, oh the things that we built , there on his mothers kitchen floor.... 

 Hmmmmm happy memory of my early childhood. Must find photo of us two and post it.

So, where was I , oh the rethinking... what to do, what to do... 

I can hear my sisters ,Linda and Pamela playing toys. That's what we called it playing toys.

 Did they even miss me??

 Come on you guys, really. No one knows I'm missing????????   

I guess I'll just get myself back into the house and keep the whole , "I ran away and no one missed me", to myself.  


Having climbed out the window, I guess that I will just  climb back in the window. Right!! 

Did I mention that I was about 5 years old when this happened? 

Screwed that one up didn't I? 

Now what? . 

How do I get myself out of this situation? 

(Why do I find myself in these situations?) sigh, okay double sigh!

My parents have know idea I am even missing. hmmmm 

I guess that I will just march in through the front door and tell them what has happened, while they were doing whatever it is parents do on a Sunday in the late afternoon. 

Maybe they will love me more,when  I explained to them that I ran way and point out they didn't even notice. 

How could they do that to me!

I can still hear them laughing at me.

Of course, how stupid of me. 

Of course, they are going to laugh at me.

God how I hated being laughed at. 

But I guess that is what happens when you put yourself out there, when you stand up for yourself. 

I wanted, no, needed for them to take me seriously. 

I told them to stop laughing at me, that I was sad and mad and, 

no such luck.

 Totally forlorn and exhausted after my traumatic experience, I did what ever woman would do. I tossed myself onto my bed, cried into my pillow and fell asleep. I woke up about an hour later, someone had pulled a blanket over my little body. Mom was calling us all for dinner.

 I don't recall what we eat that night, but I do recall that we didn't talk about the events of the day.

 Years later, my family would all laugh at my stories. So many of them involved me being laughed at, sometimes with.  It seems to me that the best stories involved me saying or doing something that led to some trouble, adventure, or just a story that the whole family still loves to share and laugh about.

It was not long after my running away from home episode, that I almost lost my life. 
I need to do some research in the Vancouver news papers archives to get the whole story. 

For now I will just say that the story involves me on a tricycle. 
Me saving my sisters butt. 
And a bakery delivery truck.

As I close this tale, I would like to thank my husband for telling me I should write.

 I would also like to thank the person who created "Spell Check", you are my hero. 

Without spell check this story would be a confusing read.

 I love to tell stories, but I can not spell worth a darn.

 I will explain why in my next post.

Cheers!