Pretend It's Not Me Page 3

My father ran a commercial laundry called Metro Industrial Linen Service.

This wasn't your average corner laundry. He had hundreds of employees and a lot of responsibility. His job demanded the majority of his time. He was up every morning at 4:30 and often got home after 6. By 9 o'clock he was in bed.

He liked spending Saturday morning's at the office doing paperwork and if I was home he always took me with him. He'd be up by 6 and let me sleep until he was ready to leave. If it was winter the car would be warm by the time we left. He never did this for himself, but if I was going with him he always made sure the car was heated.

The director of the company had a beautiful office, the walls were covered in a rich dark wood with elegant lamps, there was a plush leather sofa, a large ornate desk and a color TV. I spent my time watching cartoons while my father worked in his office.

The drive into the city and back is what I remember the most. My father and I bonded over music, he loved great female singers like Shirley Bassey and Barbra Streisand.

I remember the day he came home and called me upstairs to hear Honey Bee by Gloria Gaynor. He was so into it.

This was a man who came from a small Ontario town, who grew up in a home of violence and neglect and alcohol, a man who wanted out so bad that he ran away and joined the army. You wouldn't expect him to have such refined taste.

Everything he knew he taught himself by reading books and he made sure I understood the importance of reading too.

He had such a love of life and learning, he was always busy working on one project or another.

When the CB radio craze hit my dad was the first one in our neighborhood to install a CB radio in his car. We had a blast discovering the lingo and talking to trucker's.

He wanted to fly so he took lesson's and got a pilot's license.

He read everything he could about growing tomato's and began cultivating tomato plants in the backyard.

When he did something he did it to the best of his ability. He applied the same dedication and thoroughness to planting tomatoes and learning how to fly as he did to work.

His company had the biggest contracts in the city. Ford and General Motor's among them.

He provided overalls and table linens, indoor/outdoor carpeting etc. These companies would take delivery of whatever they needed and when it was time for them to be cleaned one of my father's many drivers would pick up the old load and replace it with a new clean one.

My father's clients also included some of the best restaurant's in the city including The Imperial Room.

The Imperial Room was one of the most elegant supper clubs in Toronto and was located in The Royal York Hotel, the location of my first and only almost arrest!

When I was first committed to the hospital my father came to see me once. When he found out I'd almost been busted in a place where he did business and what it was they caught me doing, it was all over.

I can't say I didn't understand his reaction, but of course it hurt me deeply.

Now I really was on my own in this god forsaken place. I was only 14 and no one cared about what was happening to me, no one bothered to ask me if I needed anything or how I was doing.

The loss of my relationship with my father and my placement at Lakeshore was orchestrated by his second wife, a vicious vindictive jealous society wannabe who went into the marriage with a son of her own and who was determined to dispose of me any way she could.

She was creative and determined. I can't think of anyone more conniving or more invested in the destruction of the relationship between a father and his son.

This woman put on a performance that lasted for 6 straight years. From the second she laid eyes on me until the day the relationship with my father was irretrievably broken and I was committed to Lakeshore she was behind the scenes consumed with jealousy and hatred.

Of course she told anyone who would listen how much she loved me, how she was determined to get me "the help I needed".

There was nothing wrong with me, of course, but in order for her to execute her plan she would have to invent the emotional instability necessary to have me removed from my father's home.

The world is an exciting place when your young. The fallout from whatever hurts the most is buffeted by a resilience that comes with being young and naive. It's this resilience that creates an emotional wall that protects us from the truths we don't want to know.

I was trapped in this woman's web, I knew the truth about her and what she was doing. I had her number but no one would listen.

I couldn't do anything about how my father felt because it hurt too much, until I was ready to deal with it I had to push that pain away.

I was still a ward of The Children's Aid Society, they had jurisdiction over me, over where I was placed and where I went to school etc.

I was in Grade 9 at a local high school when I was sent to Lakeshore. They had a van that dropped me off and picked me up everyday. It was white with big black lettering, LAKESHORE PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL.

Can you imagine? You can't beat that for humiliation. It was the worst.

I couldn't take the embarrassment for more than a few weeks so I dropped out and transferred to the school at Lakeshore.

It was located on Lakeshore's property but was in a different building than the Child and Adolescent Unit.

Located under the hospital was a tunnel system that allowed the transfer of resident's from one ward to another. Students were chaperoned through these tunnel's everyday to and from school.

There must have been miles and miles of them and they provided the perfect opportunity for escape. It wasn't unusual to lose an inmate going to or coming from this tunnel system.

Within the first few months of my time at Lakeshore I'd graduated from the confused helpless little boy I once was into the confidant curious and rebellious 14 year old I had become.

When I started going to the gay clubs in Toronto I found out I wasn't alone, that there were lots of other boys who had been disowned by their families and as a result were hurting in the same way I was.

It was the first time I realized I wasn't the emotionally disturbed child molester my family told me I was.

It was a revelation and it reflected the way I felt about myself because even as I was being bullied, humiliated and insulted by the very people who were suppose to protect and guide me I knew in my heart there was nothing wrong with me, that I was a person of worth, that my life meant more than the words being used to describe me.

The months wore on while I continued to run away.

Everytime I came back I would be placed in a temporary shelter while they tried to locate suitable housing.

By now I was a perpetual runner. They couldn't hold me back.

Every night we were allowed 2 hours of free time off the property to go out for a bite to eat or just to walk around.

I used this opportunity to run.

One day I met a guy who asked me if I wanted to hitchhike to Montreal with him.

He didn't have to ask me twice.

We made our way to the 401, the highway that went straight to Montreal.

It didn't take long before someone picked us up and drove us to the outskirts of Montreal where we boarded a bus for downtown.

We had no money but it didn't matter, the driver let us on.

Something special was happening, I felt it the moment I got on the bus. Everyone spoke French but they understood what we were asking. Using our hands we communicated easily.

There were only 10 people on this bus but they were so kind. Something wonderful was beginning to develop. I got a feeling of warmth from these strangers, something I'd never felt in Toronto.

I began to realize the kindness I felt from these people on the bus wasn't an anomaly. They really were an accurate reflection of Montreal and the special people who live there.

Montreal would have a profound effect on me in the years to come.

Shortly after arriving I was walking down Crescent St, one of the most exciting streets in the city with bars and clubs and restaurants.

I was walking past a car when someone called out to me. Turning around to see who it was I came face to face with a black woman who was sitting in the car alone. She asked me what time it was, an obvious ruse to get me to stop.

She asked me to get in so we could talk.

She told me she was a singer and had just given a show up the street at Oz, a disco that was popular at that time.

We liked each other and would become friends in the years to come.

I told her I was a runaway, that I was hungry and had nowhere to sleep.

She handed me ten dollars and a piece of paper with an address on it. It was the studio where she rehearsed with her band. She wanted me there by 3 o'clock the next day.

I was skeptical to say the least but decided to take a chance anyway.

I arrived at 3 o'clock the next day and walked up a steep staircase to find Uchenna and her band rehearsing. It really was true, she really was a singer! I was flabbergasted.

When the rehearsal was over we walked across the street to Howard Johnsons where we could sit quietly and talk.

She'd only been in Montreal for a few months. Her father, who was originally from Nigeria, was now a respected doctor in Nova Scotia. He sent her there to study at Concordia, but once she discovered how exciting and cosmopolitan Montreal was she didn't look back.

She was looking after someone's apartment in Cote St Luc and because she was on the road more often than not needed someone to keep it clean, to collect the mail and water the plants etc. I was perfect for the job.

The guy who left her his apartment would be gone for a few months. He had a beautiful dog who kept me company and there was a small black and white TV. It was the perfect situation.

I was sitting in the living room one afternoon watching TV when the door flew open and in came Uchenna. Following behind was a 15 year old runaway from Vermont named Karen. They were laughing hysterically having just lived through one caper or another.

When they finally calmed down enough to talk they told me what happened.

Karen met some guy in a club who took her to a hotel. He tied her up, beat her up then raped her repeatedly over the course of 3 days. When he finally left he took all her clothes, leaving her tied up and naked.

She had to lay there and wait for the maid to rescue her. When she was finally free the first thing she did was call Uchenna who brought her some clothes and took her home.

Most people would have been severely traumatized after such a brutal attack, but not us. We always managed to find that one little seed of humor no matter how terrifying or painful an experience we went through.

We couldn't have survived if we broke down after every bad thing that happened.

So Karen moved in and the three of us became fast friends.

We'd get up everyday to watch Another World then spend a few hours getting dressed. We had the best times laughing and talking. I cherish these memories because in spite of the adult nature of the things we were doing we were still young and learning as we went.

When we were finished getting ready we'd share a cab or depending on the money situation take the bus downtown. I'd go to Dominion Square and the two of them went to whatever club Uchenna was "working" at. Uchenna would "sing" to a pre-recorded track while Karen danced around her like a ho.

These weren't nice clubs, they were usually located in seedy areas and catered to a seedy clientele. Once they made their money the three of us would meet at a predetermined location, usually one of those great 24 hour restaurants on St Catherine St. like Dunn's or Ben Ash, both long gone now.

We'd spend the rest of the night dancing and drinking and meeting guys. We were having the time of our lives.

When the night was over we'd pick up some chinese food or a pizza and bring it home. The three of us would sit around eating and recounting the events of the night.

Uchenna was recording her first album of dance music when her management thought it would be easier for the public to remember her name if she changed it from Uchenna Ikejiani to Carol Jiani.

Since then she's had some moderate success in Europe as well as a few hits in Canada, but for whatever reason she couldn't break into the mainstream and depended on the gay community for record sales and concerts. They had supported her from the beginning.

The first few years when the three of us were friends were great. We never stopped laughing.

I remember the day a guy knocked on the door looking for Caroline who owed him $20 and he wanted it now. He said he'd heard her when he was standing outside the door so he knew she was there.

Being the brat I was I told him to come in and look for himself. When he saw that the bathroom door was closed he insisted I open it when out of nowhere it flew open to reveal Karen standing in front of the mirror applying her mascara and admonishing him for not believing me.

I was completely stunned. I knew Caroline had been in there and that there were no windows so where was she? As soon as he left I went to the bathroom to find out what was going on.

There was a tiny cupboard under the sink and when Karen opened the door there was Caroline all squished up in the fetal position! We laughed over that one for years! We couldn't believe she fit in there because Caroline was not a small woman.

Yes, there are some great memories. Unfortunately they didn't matter enough to Caroline because in the end she began stealing money and jewelry from Karen and I.

She was over visiting one night when I left for five minutes to go to the store. I was leaving for New York the next day and had everything packed and ready to go. There was $1500 in one of the bags and when I got back Caroline was gone along with $500 of my money. She left a note saying she had to leave because she was allergic to cats and mine was starting to bother her. There was no loyalty, I thought she knew she could come to me if she needed something but instead she chose to steal. She chose to destroy all the memories the three of us had made together. Karen and I were both appalled and disappointed.

I called the fuzz and met them at her apartment. She came down to the lobby and swore up and down she didn't steal my money. Of course there was nothing they could do because it was my word against hers. I was so fucking angry because I'd been a really good friend to her. We'd known each other for at least 5 years by then and I thought we'd established a trusting friendship, but I was wrong.

The last time I saw her she was working the street in a bad wig, trying to disguise who she was.

The last I heard she was living in England and still recording.

As for Karen we had several years and a boat load of drama ahead of us in what did turn out to be a long lasting trusting friendship.

One day she decided she didn't like the name Karen and changed it to Roxanne!

Roxanne and Niki were on their way.

I hadn't turned 16 yet so I was still a ward of The Children's Aid Society. When things got rough and I had no money and nowhere to sleep I'd go to Toronto for a few days to regroup then head back to Montreal where I'd hook up with Karen.

Karen did the same thing. Montreal was a 2 hour drive from Stowe, Vermont so if things got rough for her or if she just wanted a break she'd go back home too.

If I was under 16 the CAS had to find housing for me when/if I came back to Toronto.

It was at one of these places I met Axel, Vinnie and Donny. They were visiting from New York and staying at a mutual friends house.

Axel and Vinnie were lovers and Donnie was a friend of theirs. They had taken the train up from New York to party in Toronto. I especially liked Donnie. He was hysterical. I took him to a few gay bars downtown and we had the time of our lives.

When it was time for them to go Donnie gave me his phone number in Brooklyn and invited me to visit him whenever I wanted to.

I'd been dreaming of New York since I was 10 years old. So a few weeks later I made my way down to the train station and bought myself a ticket.

I was more excited than I could possibly imagine or explain.

It was about 8 o'clock on a Saturday night when the train from Montreal rolled into Penn Station.

I walked outside to find a cab when the smell of New York hit me in the face. It was an urban smell unlike anything I had ever smelled before.

I got into a cab for the ride over the Brooklyn Bridge and into Flatbush. I couldn't see much because it was rainy and dark out but I certainly knew it when we crossed The Brooklyn Bridge.

The Brooklyn Bridge. Wow. When she was just starting out how many times had Barbra Streisand crossed this same bridge on her way to an audition?

It was only my first night so this wasn't the last time I'd have crossing this bridge.

I arrived at Donnie's apartment on Albermarle Road and handed the driver a $20 bill. He looked at it before telling me I had the wrong currency, I needed American money. So I went upstairs to get some money from Donnie and found him in bed with a horrible tooth ache.

I paid and thanked the driver, grabbed my luggage and went back upstairs.

This was a Saturday night in one of the most exciting cities in the world and Donnie was in too much pain to go out.

He phoned his nephew Junior who came over and took me to a few private homes in Brooklyn. We didn't have to cross the bridge to find these gay parties, they were in every borough! This was a real surprise. Toronto had a small strip of gay bars and clubs on one street downtown.

I would have to wait until the morning to really experience New York in the way I wanted to. The parties were great but I wanted to see the whole city.

New York in the late 70's wasn't the gleaming neon lit big business mecca it is today. The streets were dirty and dangerous and even though it was no place for a 15 year old boy from Canada with no money and no friends New York was and still is the most exciting city in the world.

I woke up early the next day dying to see the city. The Church Avenue subway was located just blocks from Donnie's apartment. First stop was The Village. I hopped on the D train and was on my way into Manhattan when all of a sudden the train flew out of the station and onto the bridge giving me the shock of my life.

Laid out before me in all it's splendor was the island of Manhattan. I was catatonic, the sight was beyond anything I had ever imagined. That moment lives in my heart and will be there forever.

The second I stepped off that train and into The Village I was home.

There was change in the air. The gay scene was still growing, it hadn't evolved into the powerful global movement it would soon become.

Being on the front lines of that change happened when I least expected it and it was an experience I would never forget.

I was in The Village one night when out of nowhere I started hearing the sounds of people chanting. As it grew closer I realized it was a protest march.

William Friedkin was shooting a movie about the gay community called Cruising. It was the story of a brutal murderer targeting the gay community and depicted some of the most twisted depraved behavior. The gay community wanted to shut it down. Protesting was effective because it interrupted and delayed the shoot and cost the production million's of dollars.

Getting caught in the middle of this protest was a powerful and uplifting experience.

Coming as I had from a world that judged, condemned and disowned me, I felt powerful and justified. I felt like the good person I'd always known I was and just like me, I was discovering there were lots of good people out there.