REPLAY · 22:28
Ian Forest-Jones (Guest): Well, what happened after that is my mother moved on to other boyfriends. And so I'd like to say that life got better at home after that, and it didn't. It became a little less chaotic because we didn't have that sort of instability. But that's not to say that it necessarily got any better. You know, another boyfriend stabbed her in the stomach one night, which completely out of the blue. Anyway, you sort of get the idea. So what you're looking for is how did I get out of it? And so I guess the really was the example of those others. So one, so I've told you about my foster parents and how I ended up with them. The other, and I've referred to these other people. Well, the other people I came into contact with were, were church people, um, Christians. Now, what was happening at the time in Hamilton, and it doesn't exist to this day, is a lot of the large churches in Hamilton had the resources to send school buses around the neighborhood on Sunday mornings and collect kids, like their own member family children, but also others to take them to Sunday school. And, you know, it was, it was not, there was never any pressure about it. It was, you know, it's kind of like the Mr. Whippy van now, you know, if you can hear it coming and go out and grab an ice cream. Well, these buses would just travel the neighborhood and they would stop every so often. And if you wanted to go to Sunday school, you could jump on. So my mom would literally kick us out of the house on Sunday mornings so she could have the morning to herself, which is, you know, it's kind of silly, but doesn't matter because, and she would so kick us out of the house, get out of here and essentially put us on these school buses to go to local Sunday schools. And because we moved around. And so that's the other thing about the childhood, because of the instability, we tended to move just about every year to a new place, you know. So because we're moving a lot, I would end up getting on this school, Sunday school buses of different churches. And so throughout my childhood, until I could make a decision for myself, I went to a wide variety of churches. And, but here's the thing, you know, I was a rabbi, but at these churches and at these Sunday schools were people who were inhuman because they were so gracious and so generous to me and to my friends. They accepted us and welcomed us and allowed us to become part of the community. You know, so for instance, one Sunday school, at a Salvation Army church actually had a memory verse competition, which, you know, is a typical sort of thing. But for some reason, I got in my head, I really wanted to win this contest. And I did. And the prize for that contest was actually to go to the Sunday school superintendent's cottage for a weekend. Now, I wasn't the only one. I mean, we're not, it's not a bad situation. It was actually a whole event. At his cottage, in his family's cottage, and I was allowed to participate in that and to get a vacation that I could not otherwise have had or ever afforded. At that same Sunday school, I discovered that my school gym teacher went to that church. And because I talked so much and just wouldn't shut up, my gym teacher slash Sunday school teacher would pay me a quarter, 25 cents, 25-cent coin, if I could be quiet for 10 minutes. I don't know how good I was at that, but anyway, he would, you know, sit beside me and do what he could to try to help me to be quiet so I could settle down and participate in the activities. One time my friends and I were just so rough and rowdy that that church sent us down the street to another hall they had. Where we could burn off our steam and play floor hockey or soccer or whatever, because they had this— this building was destroyed eventually, probably by us, or demolished, I should say. But, you know, for the time being, we could run around and wreak havoc, and it was all fine and good. And my Sunday school teacher to this day swears that I broke his nose with a hockey stick, which I deny vociferously, but they still and that Sunday school teacher I'm good friends with now. So this is what I mean. And that, and those places, they were just so generous and gracious, gracious and welcoming to me that that along with my foster parents became a safe place where I could learn to be better, where I could learn to be different, where I could learn to make better, healthier choices. That would stand me in good stead for my future. And it was that vision and that faith that it could be better if I put the work in. So I can assure you, nothing has been handed to me on a silver platter ever. As a matter of fact, it'd be nice if it was once in a while, but never has anything come easy. I've had to work as hard as I can. To achieve whatever. And I mean, I haven't achieved much. I'm nobody special. But I'm far and away better than I would have been had I given in to the lifestyle that was being promoted, not just in my family, but in that whole neighborhood. You know, everybody was suffering because of that. You know, my childhood friends got their girlfriends pregnant, they committed crimes, they went to jail. And I was able to avoid all of that because I had this real grip on my heart and mind that showed me there was a better way if I stayed the path.