In 1983, professionals wrote that my “prospects appear poor.”
They were correct.
They just weren’t talking about what most people would assume.
Chapter 1: The Child Who Was the Problem
On paper, I was the issue.
Not the base scandal.
Not the adult behaviour.
Not the military culture.
Me.
My file described:
- regression after a Christmas trip to Ontario in which my father attempted to unload me on to his father.
- sarcasm
- tantrumming
- inappropriate behaviour
- emotional disturbance
But it also described something else that rarely gets quoted:
My parents were giving me inconsistent information about an upcoming move.
My father being noted as not being able to tell the truth.
My father’s anger and refusal to participate in family counselling
My behaviour deteriorated once that uncertainty began.
My prospects appeared poor.
They even documented that it was necessary for my teacher to ask my father to tell me we were moving — because he wasn’t going to.
Let that sink in.
Professionals had to ask my father to inform me that my entire life was about to change.
Chapter 2: The Move That Wasn’t a Move
In military families, postings are ritualized.
You put Allied Van Lines stickers on boxes.
You say goodbye to friends.
You pack carefully.
You know weeks in advance.
This time?
I came home from playing outside and my belongings were piled at the curb in a trash heap.
The TV my uncle bought me.
The stereo my grandmother gave me.
Records my uncle and my grandmother bought for me.
Personal items.
I asked why I couldn’t bring them.
I was told I had to learn that actions have consequences imply that it was my involvement with social services that was fucking with my father’s military career and my involvement with social services was the cause of this move.
That’s not how you move a child who is already in treatment.
No goodbye.
No closure meeting.
No final session.
No transition plan.
Just… gone.
The discharge summary says I “did not return after the Easter break as the family was moving to Ontario”. Easter was the first week of April. We moved the last week of April. That was almost 1 month of running feral on a military base.
Not expelled.
Not discharged successfully.
Not treatment complete.
Just relocated.
Chapter 3: The Professionals Knew
This is the part people miss.
The staff documented that once the transfer became known — though not told to me — I began “struggling.”
They saw it.
They wrote it down.
They recommended I be closely monitored in Ontario through the Armed Forces or Children’s Aid.
That is not what you write about a child who is thriving.
That is what you write when you are concerned and losing jurisdiction.
Because that’s what happened.
Jurisdiction changed.
And when jurisdiction changes, oversight evaporates.
Chapter 4: The Convenient Border
In Alberta:
- I was in a day treatment program.
- Case conferences were happening.
- Placement was being discussed.
- My father was allegedly being pressured through his commanding officer.
Then suddenly:
Transfer to Ontario.
File closed.
Suggested monitoring.
In Ontario:
My father said Alberta’s involvement was unwarranted.
Resources were thin.
The case drifted.
No emergency.
No court.
No removal.
No follow-up.
The system didn’t conclude I was safe.
It concluded I was someone else’s responsibility.
Chapter 5: The Narrative Reset
In Edmonton I was told I was expelled for trying to kiss another boy.
The paperwork does not say that.
The paperwork says:
I attended until March 25.
I did not return after Easter.
The family was moving.
There is a difference between discipline and disappearance.
I didn’t fail treatment.
Treatment lost access to me.
Chapter 6: Prospects Appear Poor
That line sits in my file like a quiet verdict.
Not because I was broken.
But because:
- parental information was inconsistent,
- support was unreliable,
- and stability was collapsing.
That’s not prophecy.
That’s an observation about environment.
When a child in structured care is abruptly relocated without explanation and without closure, the prognosis isn’t about personality.
It’s about infrastructure.
Chapter 7: The Most Interesting Part
No one documented a transition meeting.
No one documented preparing me emotionally.
No one documented telling me the move date.
They documented that adults were told.
They documented that I was struggling.
They documented that I vanished after Easter.
And then they documented that I resided at home and appeared in good health.
Administrative stability achieved.
Case closed.
People sometimes ask how children “fall through the cracks.”
They don’t fall.
The floor is moved.
And when you move a child across a provincial border at precisely the moment oversight is escalating, you don’t have to win an argument.
You just have to change the map.
And once the map changes, the story resets.
Prospects appear poor.
Not because of who the child is.
But because of where the child was placed.
Chapter 8: The Custody That No One Verified
There is one detail buried beneath all of this that is almost too bureaucratic to notice.
Custody.
My father repeatedly presented himself to professionals as the custodial parent.
Schools accepted it.
Social services operated on that assumption.
Agencies coordinated through him.
But no one appears to have ever demanded documentary proof of legal custody.
Not a court order.
Not a custody agreement.
Not a legal filing.
Just verbal statements.
And a Canadian Forces uniform.
This matters more than people realize.
Because in civilian systems, custody is a legal status.
In institutional environments, custody can become a perceived status.
If a parent shows up in a Canadian Armed Forces uniform, speaks with authority, and frames himself as the decision-maker, the default institutional response — especially in the early 1980s — was often deference rather than verification.
Not maliciously.
Procedurally.
He said he had custody.
He acted like he had custody.
He wore the uniform of a federal institution.
That combination functions as a kind of bureaucratic camouflage.
And my father wasn’t the only member of the Canadian Armed Forces to use his crisply creased uniform and his spit shone boots to bamboozle civilian authorities.
This was a documented issue that flourished due to the isolated nature of the military community.
Chapter 9: The Risk No One Wanted to Touch
This becomes far more serious when viewed alongside the 1983 context.
At the time:
- Child Welfare was considering increased intervention.
- Residential placement was being discussed.
- Family non-compliance with counselling was documented.
- External pressure through the chain of command was explicitly mentioned in conference notes.
Now introduce one destabilizing variable:
What happens if a child is removed from a home where the presenting parent does not actually hold verified legal custody?
Standard procedure would not end there.
Authorities would contact relatives.
They would examine custody history.
They would identify the legally entitled guardian.
And suddenly, the entire legal landscape changes.
Not just for the child.
For the parent.
Moving a child in Canada from one province to another without the permission of the child’s legal guardians is tantamount to kidnapping.
But it wasn’t just my father that was placing himself in legal jeopardy had he allowed me to be removed by the home via Alberta Social Services, the Canadian Armed Forces would have exposed themselves to risk as well as they facilitated the move without even the most basic verification of child custody.
Chapter 10: Uniform as Institutional Shield
There is a deeply uncomfortable dynamic in military family systems of that era.
Base housing was governed under Defence Establishment regulations.
Access to housing was conditional.
Family presence on base was not an absolute right.
Which meant authority flowed in a very particular direction:
Command structure → Family life → External agencies (often secondarily).
When a uniformed member asserted something about their household, civilian professionals were often operating in parallel, not in command.
So scrutiny softened.
Verification slowed.
Assumptions hardened.
And the narrative “father has custody” became administratively sufficient.
Not legally proven.
Administratively sufficient.
Chapter 11: The Convenient Alignment
Now place that beside the relocation timeline.
A child in treatment.
Escalating conferences.
Discussion of possible apprehension.
Pressure through the commanding officer.
Documented parental resistance to counselling.
Then:
Transfer out of province.
File closed due to jurisdiction.
New agency intake based primarily on parental reporting.
And critically:
A father stating prior involvement was unwarranted.
A father presenting stability.
A father treated as the primary legal authority.
Without documented custody verification appearing in the records.
That is not just a family narrative shift.
That is an institutional reset.
Chapter 12: The Quiet Power of Assumption
What is most striking is not that systems failed dramatically.
It is that they operated exactly as designed under incomplete information.
No court activity.
No children admitted to care.
No reference to abuse.
Because the gatekeeping adult framed the situation as manageable, exaggerated, or unwarranted — and no immediate legal contradiction was triggered.
If no one asks to see the custody order, the custody claim becomes functionally real in practice.
Especially when backed by:
- Rank
- Institutional affiliation
- Geographic mobility
- Jurisdictional complexity across provinces
Final Addendum: Authority vs. Legitimacy
There is a difference between having legal custody and being treated as though you have custody.
One is a matter of law.
The other is a matter of institutional perception.
In my case, the perception appears to have travelled faster than the verification.
And when a child’s access to care, continuity of treatment, and potential protective intervention all flow through that perceived authority, the consequences are not theoretical.
They are administrative.
Quietly administrative.
A uniform does not grant legal custody.
But in practice, in that era, it could grant something almost as powerful:
Freedom from immediate scrutiny.
Beeshive 