School 6, grade five. I remember only a few things from then, and most of them unpleasant. To me at least. Granted until recently I have been thinking I didn't remember much about most of my childhood. Its amazing what you remember when you actually take the time to sit and think. I do apologize though if things seem out of order sometimes, you know how it is - the longer past something you get the less you remember of it.
I think it was for my birthday that year that my dad got me books 1-3 of Harry Potter. I want to say Christmas actually. I can't remember which exactly but I got the first three (only four books were out at the time). I read them over and over and over again. I read them because I loved the world that was in Harry Potter, I read them because they were from my dad (who I only saw for two weeks in the summer because I lived on the other end of country), I read them because my friends (I'm sure I had friends then) read them, and I read them because I could relate so well to Harry. I read them so much that the first page fell out of the third book. Me and my friends at lunch would play games surrounding the Harry Potter universe and what we think would happen in future books. The first movie came out in theater's then. Not that I got to go see it. But when it came out on VHS my dad sent it to me (as well as a movie poster) because we didn't have a DVD player. We even watched it in class once. Which was odd, remember, since I went to a Catholic school.
I also got lice in grade five. That wasn't pleasant. My mom blamed my dad, and she blamed me. She would do the anti-lice shampoo herself and then give me the lice comb and tell me to comb out my hair. Like a ten year old has the patience and dedication to go through their own hair with a lice comb to the point of getting rid of all the lice and nits. It wasn't fun. So of course they came back. Multiple times. Of course every time they came back it was 'my fault' because I was a 'pig' according to my mom and Dean. Dean would also tell my mom it was my fault that he could spend time with his daughter because me having lice meant she couldn't come over. Which of course led to fights. I learned quickly how to not itch my head when people were around.
I never did like Dean's daughter. She seemed to be stuck up. She was a year younger then me, but was allowed to do more then I was. If I was at her house we had to do everything her way cause it was her house, and if we were at mine we had to do everything her way because she was the guest. Truthfully though, I think the reason I didn't like her was because it seemed like my mom loved her more then me. Things that got me in trouble (like lots of trouble, groundings and spankings) she would either get away with or just be told 'no'. I remember once feeling like I could be the sickest person on earth with an illness that could be curable if you looked for the cure, and she could have a cold - and my mom and Dean would spend more time making sure she was comfortable and was getting over her cold then they would be looking out for me.
About this time to (remember please that I was TEN) I started to make a list of people in my head who I thought loved me. And by loved me read: would be sad and miss me if I was to die. The list was short. My Grandma, my Grandpa, my Oma (grandma in German), and my Dad. I could have added aunts and uncles and cousins to the list, but I hadn't talked to them since summer/grade four so they didn't count in my mind. It was this list, these four people that kept me from wishing I was dead.
Now I did promise that I would keep this blog about God and what He brought me out of. I believe, I truly truly truly believe that if God had left me in Ontario to grow up I would have eventually tried to kill myself. How do I figure this? you may ask. Quiet simple. I was already half wishing I was dead. At the time I would never have had the nerve to kill myself for sure, but as I got older I'm sure I could have convinced myself it was a good idea. And even my list wouldn't have helped me. I saw my dad two out of every fifty-two weeks. Every time he called my mom and Dean would fight. And all my grandparents lived in BC (and if my Oma ever called mom and Dean would fight because my Oma is my dad's mom.) I could have convinced myself that they wouldn't notice to much if I was gone. It's sobering to think, looking down at my arms that are still smooth and unmarred that it was really only one summer that kept them that way. If things hadn't of changed that summer, my wrists and arms could have been covered in scars. Praise God, He is good.
But, hallelujah, God took me away from that. Now, if you don't believe in God you are probably thinking (with good reason I guess) "Well if God was so concerned that you didn't kill yourself why would He take you there to begin with?" Well I had a few things to learn about Him first. And about love. See while I didn't feel loved at home, one of my favourite places to go (even if Dean's daughter was there) was to Dean's ex-wife's house. She would take me to Church every Sunday without fail. She would come to the door of our house, she would whether the glairs she would get from her ex-husband and the looks of distaste from my mom, she would take me away from the house for the day, and she would bring me to church. Do I remember much from church then? No. But I remember how nice it was to get away from my mom. Looking back now though, I think Carla, Dean's ex-wife, mucst have been an extra special and blessed lady. She took me in and loved me (even if culturally it would have been fine for her to dislike me), just as we are called to do in the book of 1 Corinthians. I really think she understood what love is.
That summer the Church I was going to, was having a garage sale to raise up the money to send one kid to camp. They raised enough money to send four people to camp. All the kid had to pay was $10. Dean and Carla's daughter was picked to go, so Carla petitioned the church so that I could go as well. They agreed. So I got to go to camp that summer. It was so much fun. I remember one dinner wearing crazy shoes (that was the theme for the night) and that the director of the camp and his wife were 'Shrek' and 'Fiona' (Shrek had just come out sometime that year). And at the end of the week at camp people were given awards that their cabin leaders thought would suit them. My award was "Most Likely to Succeed at Jeopardy."
Then I went home, and the week after that I left for my Grandma's and my Dad's. Little did I know what God had planned for there.
Hollie.
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