The answer to anything I asked my parents began with the letter N. No.
Can you buy me a new dress? No.
Can I go to the movies with my friends? No.
Can you sign me up for gymnastics? No
Can you take me to Wonderland? No.
Can I have a TV in my room? No.
And there was this all encompassing feeling of wanting to be around boys. Sitting alone in my room knowing there were boys out there in the world caused me psychological pain.
Puberty rearranges your brain and floods you with desires you can’t grasp or control.
The hormones were striking me hard.
To be clear: I was not actually ready to have sex. Maybe hug and kiss, but not do a home run. Primarily I wanted to emotionally connect with boys and just be around boys.
And there was this energy. A rising life force propelling me to conquer the world. I needed an outlet for this new energy.
I asked for things that I imagined would satisfy me or give me a portal to the world: dance classes, gymnastics, going to the movies, a TV for my room (so I can watch in privacy movies rated R for explicit sexual content on the First Choice channel). But everything got a resounding mean spirited “No”.
I felt more and more suffocated.
Why Did My Parents Say No?
My parents and I came to Canada when I was six. We didn’t know any English. Learning English came harder to them than to me. We only spoke Polish at home (and still do).
My parents worked long hours. They had low paying labor jobs. I remember them tired, irritated, and over worked. Money or lack of it was frequently discussed.
We lived in Winnipeg for the first four years, and then moved to the greater Toronto area. When I was fifteen we lived in the Jane and Finch area of North York. It was a bit of a ghetto area. Gang bangers went to my high school. My parents grew to hate the area and worked towards getting out of there.
Their attitude always was “you gotta be tough because life is hard.”
I am a softie though. I felt deeply and thought hard about things. Sometimes I emotionally exploded.
Any emotional outburst was usually met with anger and quashed. I was told to not be weak. My dad’s favorite mantra was, “he who has a soft heart must have a hard butt.” Meaning that if you are soft, you need a hard butt to endure getting kicked because that is what happens to soft people. If you felt too much you needed to stuff that in as far as you can. If I didn’t stuff it fast enough I got punished.
My parents stopped physically punishing me sometime around age 12. One incident ended it. My mom came at me, and I fought. So there were no more spankings at 15. But yelling and shaming continued.
I remember I once asked for acting lessons because I wanted to be an actress. A common dream for girls. In reality I wanted to be a singer first, but I was told I have no voice.
I begged my mom to sign me up for acting lessons that my friend was going to. My mom outright refused. I fussed. My dad got in on it and shamed my dream so mercilessly I cried to breathlessness. My chest heaved and I couldn’t catch my breath.
Perhaps they couldn’t afford it, and resented me for asking. Or perhaps my wishes were perceived as silly fluff.
I Started Sneaking Out At Night
After my parents went to sleep around 11pm, I silently tiptoed out of the apartment. I once took a night bus to another apartment complex. I met with a guy two years older than me. We sat on the steps of his building and talked. I went back home by 2am. Other times I wondered around the neighborhood at night for an hour or two. Sometimes drug dealers said “pssst” to me. I smiled and said, “No thank you,” and walked on.
My parents started to suspect something. They put an alarm on the door. It was a cheap alarm. I took a mini screwdriver, the kind you use to screw the hinges on eyeglasses, and unscrewed the screws, took out the battery, and snuck out. I put the battery back in when I came home.
Then one night as I was getting ready to sneak out, my mom came out of the bedroom. She asked me why I am wearing jeans underneath my nightgown.
“I’m cold.” I said. I knew she knew. This spelled an end to my nightly escapades.
Since she didn’t catch me in the actual act, she didn’t say anything. She went back to bed. But I knew she wasn’t going to sleep. She was going to lurk and wait. I took off the jeans, washed off the makeup I just applied, and defeated went to bed.
But frustration and loneliness mounted.
Then came the day of the “No” that tipped the scale and engulfed me in rage. What was the “No” in response to? I don’t specifically remember. I only recall the frustration, powerlessness, and fury.
So Here Is What I Did
The next day after school, I opened an atlas book titled Our Universe by Roy A. Gallant. This is where I kept money I received as gifts. I took all the money and put it in my purse. A total of $80.00.
I filled a small pouch with all the gold I had in my jewelry box. It was a good bunch. It went straight into the secret bottom zip-up pocket of my purse.
I packed a red duffle bag with clothes and toiletries. I squished my large make up bag into a knapsack then stuffed my purse on top.
I put on my red tracksuit and red British Knights sneakers. I threw on the knapsack and swung the duffle bag across my chest. It was 4:30pm. An hour before my parents come home from work. I locked the door and walked to the bus stop. This was it.
Follow The Saga
This is the first story in a series documenting my runaway experience as a 15 year old girl in 1990 Toronto. Stay subscribed to read the entire saga.
Thank you for being here.
This is AWESOME. :) I did the same. ahaha.