My Little Step Children

There was a Saturday Night Live skit that was filmed back in 2018 but that had been “cut for time”.

This one was called “My Little Step Children” and it starred Natalie Portman and Beck Bennett.

I can’t quite figure out why this one particular scene makes me laugh so much, but it does…….

She never wanted kids, she just wanted Richard.
But, Richard comes with kids…
Yeah, well that’s not her fault.

Today’s prompt

Daily writing prompt
How do you want to retire?

I honestly never expected to live this long.

I obviously never put any thought into retiring.

When your adolescence and early adult years are spent trying to figure out the best way to kill yourself without looking like a loser, planning for a long life or planning for retirement aren’t really priority number one.

I still have no retirement plans.

As I’ve said before, I don’t exist outside of work.

The childhood I had didn’t lead me towards finding meaning for life within myself. The meaning for my existence has always come from working.

And to anyone who thinks of coming at me with “well, we’ve all had tough childhoods”……… you can go fuck yourself.

I’m tired.

Even more so since I got involved with the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service in 2011.

You can only be called a liar so many times by the Canadian Armed Forces before it really takes a toll on your mental health.

And let’s face it, my mental health wasn’t all that great to begin with before I sent that fateful email off to the Edmonton Police Service in March of 2011.

And believe me, getting called a scam artist by Harjit Sajjan didn’t help my depression or anxiety much either.

The only reason that Sajjan allowed the release of the courts martial transcripts and the CFSIU investigation paperwork in 2020 is he realized that somehow I had become aware of the existence of the documents and he calculated the risk that I would somehow find out the contents of those documents and he didn’t want to have the public find out that I had been telling the truth about CFB Namao while he called me a scam artist to my face.

And my brother’s death has really reinforced for me the fact that no one really gives a shit.

So yeah, I have no intention of sticking around past 2027.

I have no intention of retiring and spending more time with my constant companions of betrayal, depression, anxiety, and CPTSD.

Bobbie, you’re so smart, you can’t be depressed!!!!

Nothing pisses me off more than this horse shit.

Both the fact that this is a common attitude amongst people, and the fact that yes, while I suffer from major depression, I can get shit done.

High functioning depression is what they call it.

And it fucking sucks.

So, last week I did yet another thing that I am totally NOT QUALIFIED* to do at work.

I know that networking is not covered in any of the 4th class Power Engineering modules that I undertook via correspondence.

At work there was a standalone building management system put in that wasn’t connected to the main network for an unknown reason.

Stand Alone Building Automation System
MOXA NAT-102

Wasn’t a concern until the system started doing funny things during the recent cold snap and we had no way of logging into it to see what was up.

It had become painfully obvious to me that this standalone system needed to be connected to the main network so that the shift engineers could get into it to manually override it if required.

I think this is the 4th MOXA NAT that I’ve installed at work in the last couple of years in order to put building automation and HVAC equipment on to the main network.

The most significant problem is the addressing for the network and the building automation equipment and the HVAC equipment have two completely different addressing schemes.

Most equipment shows up with the factory default addresses being used which typically are in the Class C range and are usually beginning with 192.168.xxx.xxx

The main network is a Class B network and starts with 172.24.xxx.xxx.

The NAT allows communication to flow between the Class C network and the Class B network without causing any headaches.

From MOXA NAT-102 manual

Basically in the NAT I have to create two VLANS (virtual local area networks) assign the WAN (wide area network) to one VLAN and the LAN (local area network) to the other VLAN and then create very specific rules to allow traffic to flow between the LAN and the WAN.

I create a 1-to-1 routing rule. The rule would look like this:

incoming -> 172.24.81.30 goes to 192.168.3.1, blocks ICMP, allows TCP and UDP.

outgoing – 192.168.3.1 goes to 171.24.81.30, blocks ICMP, allows TCP and UDP

All other IP addresses on the LAN are blocked from any type of communication with the WAN port and conversely the WAN can only see the single device on the LAN.

The MOXA device itself is set to respond to pings so at least IMIT can see the device is present, but even IMIT can’t see to the other side of the NAT.

I’ve had to use NATs before to let the Emergency Generator Control system and the Elevator Dispatcher to be accessed from the main network for access to readings, logs, and alarms.

Elevator Control System
Pneumatic Tube System
12.4 kV to 600 volt transformers

Well Bobbie, the answer is clear, you need to take a course in networking if you like this so much!!!!!!

The thing is, I don’t like this.

There is absolutely nothing special about this, and the way I look at this, if an imbecile such as myself can do this, then really anyone can do this.

I had an interest in computers and electronics when I was a kid. But my father did everything that he could in order to shit all over that.

My father would spare no expense when I was a kid extolling how much of a fuck up I was, and that I was pretty fucking stupid no matter how good I was a picking up electronics and computers.

My father’s disdain for my interest in electronics and computers was legendary.

When I was in grade 8 (1985 – 1986) I had built a 5mW helium neon laser as a science project. Not going to go too far into it, but by using a pair of mirror mounted on voice coils I could scan the beam to any X-Y coordinate on a wall or screen. Or I could just feed audio into the amplifiers that drove the voice coils and I could create patterns.

My science teacher, Mr. Bowles, was blown away by this.

My brother Scott decided that he was going to sell the device that I was using to generate the X-Y scan patterns.

My father of course wasn’t concerned in the least.

Scott was acting this way because of what I had let the babysitter do to him.

Scott was acting this way because I wasn’t raising him properly.

If you’ve followed my story, you’ll know that I moved out of the house in late 1987. I really wasn’t safe in the house. Richard was absolutely unsuitable as a parent, and my brother Scott had become uncontrollable and was definitely running with a dangerous crew.

Getting work right away wasn’t an issue. Since I was about 14 I had been servicing arcade games, pinball machines, and jukeboxes for two different route operators in Toronto.

I beat a DeVry certified electronics technician at the repair of one video game that he had been stumped on for over 2 months. Took me four hours to get the machine up and running again. And it was just an 8-bit bi-directional latch that crippled the machine.

I realized quickly that although my knowledge in digital electronics had saved my bacon, without a certificate or diploma I was never going to make a living off this.

No matter how much I’ve tried to steer clear of anything to do with electronics or computers, I always get drawn back into it. And as much as I despise electronics and computers, they have saved my bacon as they offset all of my character flaws.

The last time I spoke with my father was in August / September of 2006. He brought up the topic of my laser himself and he wanted to know why the fuck that was such a big deal. It wasn’t like I had made the laser tube from scratch, or designed the power supply from scratch, I had just purchased a used laser tube and I had built the power supply using pre-made components.

When my brother came down to see me in 2021 after the public release of the 1980 Military Police investigation paperwork which proved that our father was a liar, we went for a walk around the seawall.

Out of nowhere he brought up the topic of the laser and wanted to know why it was such a big deal. Apparently while Richard was still alive between 2006 and 2017 he had talked to Scott and compared me and my laser to that kid in the states that was busted by the FBI for modifying a clock controller from a VCR and using it to control things at preset times.

I asked him if he knew what a “hacker” was and how the term originated.

I explained to him that the term “hacker” originated with people who would take electronic devices or computer devices and make them do things that they weren’t originally intended to do by “hacking” the components or the programs.

Almost everyone who is a somebody in the field of computers or electronics started off by taking things apart or decompiling code in order to see how things worked, and then making changes to make the devices work better or to do things that were more beneficial to the user.

Christ, some of the earliest hacking / phreaking involved blowing a Captain Crunch toy whistle into the receiver of a payphone in order to make free phone calls.

But, back to me. I turned my back on electronics and computers many, many moons ago.

The memories of my father’s derision, and his utter contempt towards my interests in computers and electronics was just too fucking painful.

I still work with electronics, computers, and networking even though I am NOT QUALIFIED*. I have no choice. In this day and age there is no reason for a facility like mine to not be able to extract operational data from building automation equipment and HVAC equipment.

But, every time that I do this work it tears me apart with never ending thoughts of what might have been or what could have been or what should have been.

Sure, it was my father that was an asshole.

But it was Captain McRae and his teenage accomplice what diddled about 25 children on Canadian Forces Base Namao from 1978 to 1980. It was also the Canadian Forces military social worker Captain Totzke that ensured that I knew that I was to blame for allowing myself and my brother to be abused.

And of course, my father being a lowly corporal in the Canadian Forces ensured that Captain Totzke’s opinion of me would notn be questioned by my father.

So, not only does working with electronics and networking at the hospital raise up questions about the way my father belittled my blossoming interests, but it also make me wonder how things would have turned out had my brother and I not been molested, had the Canadian Forces not buried the matter in 1980, and had I not had Captain Totzke as my social worker.

Imperfect humans

Humans by nature, so I have learnt, are far from perfect.

Human brains are so delicate and so easily damaged.

I am far from perfect.

Trauma can destroy a brain.

I should know, mine is fucked.

Mine often feels like it is getting warm, and being crushed from within.

Brains, once traumatized, will never be the same.

No matter how hard you try, you’ll never forget how to ride a bicycle once you’ve learnt how to ride a bicycle.

No matter how hard you try, you’ll never forget how to skate on ice once you’ve skated on ice.

Once your brain has been traumatized you will never be the same.

There will be those that say “Well Bobbie, you’ll just have to try harder and just get over the past”.

Doesn’t work that way.

As I’ve said elsewhere, it wasn’t that people didn’t know about the abuse. People did know about the abuse. And the chose not to do anything about the abuse. And they chose to blame me for the abuse.

That fucked with me. That fucked with my brain.

And how your brain reacts to trauma is genetically set as well.

My mother had issues with anxiety to the point where she couldn’t care for me at times and I had to be taken in as a boarder at the hospital in Halifax.

My father had issues with depression to the point that he was returned to port by the Canadian Forces. Alcohol was his crutch. He was a happy drunk, and that’s why he drank. He only became a raging asshole when he was sober.

People commit suicide A LOT.

People will ALWAYS commit suicide.

According to the Public Health Agency of Canada, 4500 people die by suicide each year. That’s over 12 per day.

America had about 48,000 suicides in 2021

There’s only so much trauma one person’s brain can endure.

The human brain is hardwired to survive.

The fact that the human brain can also devise ways to kill itself indicates that the brain can only take so much stress and damage before it says that enough is enough.

And society has to understand that.

The human brain is a mushy blob of fat with a billion or so neurones that pass around signals by way of electrical and chemical processes.

Forcing people to endure hell is not right.

I get people at work that try to be friendly to me and try to cheer me up all of the time. It’s so fucking annoying.

I like to work because it keeps my brain distracted from its desire to die.

But with depression and anxiety I only have so much energy to give.

Yes, I snap at people.

Yes, I get pissed off at people.

Yes, I find people who talk to much to be annoying to the point that my brain feels like its on fire.

Yes, I am extremely forgetful.

Yes, I cannot remember faces and I get really fucking annoyed when people equate my knack for building automation with being too smart to forget faces.

My brain is damaged.

And I am tired.

With all that I have been through in life, and all that I have suffered through on my own, death is not a punishment.

My death is not an indication of my failure.

My death will be my release.

People have an irrational fear of death.

Death does not hurt.

Death is painless.

Death is peaceful.

Dying is the scary part.

And with all that I’ve been through, I think I deserve to be able to end my life when I want to and to have assistance with ending my life quickly and painlessly.

Sure, there are those who will claim that I am being selfish, and childish, and immature, and unthankful, not considerate of others, and going against god’s will.

Here’s an interesting tidbit. In the next 100 years, over 7.5 Billion people are going to die. The current estimate to date is that over 100 Billion people have died since humans began to walk the face of the Earth.

That’s a lot of death.

And yet the Earth still orbits around the Sun, our solar system still floats amongst other solar systems in the milky way, the milky way is one of an estimated two trillion galaxies in the universe.

My death will have no effect on any of this.

So far as god goes, god is a creation of humans.

God or the multitude of other gods have served as a crutch for humanity to explain things that couldn’t be explained and to justify things that are beyond justification.

Humans have always had an irrational fear of death.

It’s one of the curses of our intelligence.

We know we exist.

We know we are alive.

We also know that we die.

The human brain knows what it is like to be alive.

The human brain has no idea of what it feels like to not exist.

The human brain cannot imagine being dead.

Decaying and rotting corpses look bad and they smell bad.

But you have nothing to fear as once your brain is dead your corpse is just a piece of meat that can no longer maintain itself.

So the human mind creates heavens, hells, Xanadus and Valhallas and a plethora of other places in the “after life”.

And it creates gods to rule over those places.

Gods serve as a source of creation to explain where we came from.

Gods also serve as a source of comfort to take the fear out of death.

But then people become afraid of angering the gods that they have created.

And so every life is sacred.

Life on Earth is a gift.

You are an evil and flawed person if you want to take your leave early.

You will anger god.

God will cast you into a void or a lake of fire.

So suicide and medical assistance in dying become bad, and wrong, and evil.

Forcing people to endure mental trauma and mental anguish to keep the god crutch happy becomes the norm.

No one was around in 1978 to 1980 to stop Captain McRae and his teenaged accomplice.

No one was around when I was in the care of the military social worker.

No one was around when I had to endure my father’s wrath for “fucking with his military career”.

So you know what, you don’t get a say in my death.

And you don’t get to shame me, or chastise me, or ridicule me for choosing death over life.

I didn’t ask to be born.

I didn’t ask for this life.

I didn’t ask for the sexual, physical, and mental abuse.

I didn’t ask for the mental and emotional neglect.

But what I am asking for is a peaceful death.

Is that really too much to ask for?

Photography.

I took this past Friday off from work to be photographed by a professional photographer.

I met Albert back in 2017 when he came to the hospital to document an energy savings program that phsycial plant had implemented.

He was brought in by the planner that had looked after the project.

He didn’t say anything to me at the time, but he asked the manager to contact me and to tell me that he was interested in taking some photos of me in his studio.

I went over and we did a photoshoot for a few hours.

It was interesting.

So, I decided that I’d like to have some more photographs taken seeing as how my wardrobe has become far more than second hand dresses. Also, my tattoos cover far more than what they did back in 2017.

I contacted Albert about a month ago and we set up an appointment on Friday.

I took four dresses over in addition to the dress that I was wearing.

I also took my favourtie heels.

Rode the scooter from Braid skytrain station over to Albert’s place.

Albert should start a therapy / photography service.

We talked for about 30 to 40 minutes before going into the studio. He seemed to want to flesh out why I wanted to pay to get my photographs taken.

I explained to Albert that I have a decent camera setup, and I like taking photographs of mechanical things, and odd things. I don’t like to photograph people and I don’t like people in my photographs.

I also explained that I am far too self concious and far too critical to take pictures of myself.

Albert asked me what happens when people want to take picture of me.

I told him that for some reason my brain reacts different.

For example, when I was in Iceland over the summer no matter where I went, both tourists and Icelanders were asking to take my picture.

I think the reason that I love dresses and colours and designs is they offset how absolutely dead I am on the inside.

Let’s face it, with what I’ve been through in life, I have the ultimate “resting bitch face”. People think that I’m angry. I’m not. I’m just completely dead on the inside.

As social services indicated back in 1982, I couldn’t express emotions, I couldn’t express happiness or sadness. Whenever they tried to get me to express my emotions it would usually end up in a temper tantrum. I had no idea of how to make friends. I was completely isolated. Captain Totzke and my father had no interest in getting me the help I needed at the time, so things were just left to fester.

I should have the photographs in a week’s time. Albert has to process the images. I’ll get them in RAW format, but he’ll also render JPG versions of the photos. Most of the portrait full frame shots were taken with a Medium Format digital camera.

Bobbie, what interests you?

Not much really.

Computers?

Nope.

But you’re so good with them?

Nope, I can just RTFM and I have decent logic

Electronics?

Nope.

That’s just common sense and logic again.

Cars / motorcycles?

Nope.

Never have liked cars.

Bicycles?

Nope.

They’e good to ride and easy to fix, but that’s it.

Scooters?

Nope.

Cheap to ride and charge, but that’s it really.

Camping?

Nope.

Travel?

Nope.

Music?

Yes, but just listening to music, anything musical inside of me was successfully killed by my father.

Television / movies?

Nope. Thankfully Richard and Sue didn’t want us in the PMQ while we were kids, so going for long lonely walks as a kid to keep the pain of the cold at bay is what I would do instead of getting hooked on TV as a kid.

Sports.

Fuck no. I loved sports before the events of CFB Namao. But after Captain Totzke said that I could never play sports due to my “homosexuality” I grew to resent sports. Besides, I learnt from my father to despise hockey and such. He didn’t hate hockey. He loved it. He would sit at home screaming and yelling at the TV screen getting pissed of angry and drunk when the Toronto Makebeliefs would lose a game, which was almost every game back in the ’80s. When Richard was ranting and railing against his favourite team you didn’t dare disturb him.

Electronics have always been something that I was able to use on jobs to keep my employment and offset my depressed personailty.

People can detect my issues long before they’ve ever talked to me.

The one thing that I always had was my ability to do techinical work that was far above the pay grade of the job that I was applying for.

When I started working at Lions Gate Lanes in 1992 I wasn’t “one of the guys”. I didn’t hang out with the men’s bowling leagues and shoot the shit about sports teams and tit’s ‘n’ ass like the other mechanics would. But what I did have going for me is that I could repair the CPU and Video boards for the AS-80 scoring system, along with the optical scanners. Repairing the overhead video monitors was extremely beneficial.

I could do the same mechanical work that everyone else was expected to do, but I could use my electronics knowledge to offset that I wasn’t a “team player” like the other guys.

When Lions Gate Lanes closed down in the summer of 1993 I was offered a position at a bowling centre in Mississauga owned by the same company.

The head mechanic out there wasn’t going to be told what he had to do by a West Coast manager. And besides, I wouldn’t drink with the boys, I didn’t get a kick out of the girlie posters in the work shop, and I didn’t shoot the shit with the boys.

People find it odd that I don’t “check” people out or enjoy porn, or pin ups, or talking about sex in general. Y’all can thank Captain Totzke for that odd aspect of my personality.

People often take my lack of interest in girls, not as a general lack of interest in sex, but as a sign that I’m gay.

Yeah, I’ve sucked dick in my life.

But that’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re a homosexual, right?

Not being interested in girls doesn’t have anything to do with the abused you suffered at the hands of the babysitter. Nope. Not being interested in girls = being a homo.

Anyways the head mechanic at Mississauga wasn’t going to have a homo in his shop.

This is why I was able to get my employment insuarnce claim re-opened after they completed their investigation.

When I came back to Vancouver I would end up getting a job at a small bowling cente in East Richmond. The centre was brand new and had only been open since 1989. It had the latest computerized pinsetters. And that was a major problem. Their mechanics couldn’t do any type of electronic repairs or electronic troubleshooting.

I came in and was able to repair just about everything in the centre. Pinsetter CPU boards, I/O boards/ power supplies, AS-90 Scoring system, etc. Plus I could MIG weld which was beneficial as this pinsetter was made from stamped sheet metal and would often suffer cracks.

I never did get sent for factory training at either bowling centre.

You’re far too smart.

But without factory training there would be absolutely no advancement.

I started working in commercial office buildings in 1998.

Working on the building automation systems was a piece of cake as I had a good understanding of electronics and computers.

But more of the same shit.

When you’re dealing with tenants that pay thousands of dollars per month in rent, they want special treatment, and it’s expected that you’ll kiss their asses and tickle their nutsacks whe requested.

Fixing things is what I do.

Blowing sunshine up the ass of some rich trustfund brat who’s running his “own” company because daddy gave him a $500,000.00 loan wasn’t a skill of mine.

Heaping praise on someone who makes their living from trading penny stocks and scamming seniors with investment scams wasn’t a skill that I was very good at.

Want your lights fixed?

I’m your man.

Want your heatpump replaced?

I’m your man.

Want your nutsack tickled because you fell into a CEO position that your father bought for you?

Go fuck yourself.

Bobbie, why didn’t you just go to trade school or take a diploma program?

Well, calling up daddy and stepmommy for a loan or help with getting a loan, or help with a place to live was not in the cards .

At this point in time I had no idea where my mother was, and as I would find out when I located her in 2013 and talked to her, it wouldn’t have been of any use.

And then there’s the problem of my depression and my anxiety and my intense self loathing.

I would have been absolutely terrified of approaching my father for any type of help with as any failure in a trade or diploma program would have only elicited more scorn and derision from him.

So I took Power Engineering. Started with my 5th class refrigeration operator, and then did my 4th class.

I thought that Power Engineering would be something. But its not.

There’s a misconception in property management and plant management that Power Engineers are engineers.

They’re not.

They have an understanding of refrigeration plant operation, boiler plant operating, operating low pressure and high pressure thermal plants, operating low pressure and high pressure steam plants, firing oil fired boilers, natural gas fired boilers, oil fired boilers, black liquor fired boilers, and fluidized bed boilers. They understand thermodynamics, psychrometrics, enthalpy, and other basic principles of physics.

But that’s not what the majority of empoloyers that require power engineers on site hire power engineers for.

The vast majority of employers just hire power engineers to satisfy the basic requirement to meet provincial regulations of having a power engineer on site while the boilers or chillers are in operation.

The vast majority of plants that hire power engineers are looking for “Johnny the janitors” who can look after stuff that janitors can look after, but the employers cheap out and just dump all of the work that doesn’t require a TQ on to the power engineers.

If I had a chance to do my life over again, what would I do?

Probably something in fashion, or theatrics.

Back at Pierre Laporte I used to do the lighting for school productions and I’d look after the sound.

I was good enough at this that Mr. Ford got me a weekend job at a local P.A. rental shop repairing lighting and sound equipment.

I like clothing.

I love dresses and mix and matching with dresses.

As I’ve said numerous times, I’ll never understand why men don’t wear dresses.

For some reason when it comes to dresses and my manner of dressing, I don’t give two fucking shits what anyone thinks.

I don’t identify as a women.

I don’t want to be a woman.

But I love dresses.

I liked make-up when I was into it in the period of 2006 to 2011.

But then again I bought myself a nice little sewing machine a few years ago.

I got rid of it a short while ago.

It was painful looking at it as it sat in my apartment unused.

See, every time I tried to use it Richard was there screaming at me for being such a silly fucker.

My brother doesn’t understand what it’s like having Richard and Terry living in my head.

But they’re there.

Shitting all over anything that I like to do.

Saturday October 28th, 2023

So, just sitting down eating a bite for lunch and enjoying a soy cappuccino.

I’m probably going to ride my scoot over to the VCC-Clark skytrain station and take a run out to Value Village in Coquitlam and maybe the one out in Port Coquitlam.

People have asked me repeatedly how I can live without a car.

I say very easily.

I haven’t owned a car since 1998 when I moved downtown.

But even before that, when I did own cars, I usually couldn’t afford to drive them.

I bought a 1977 VW Rabbit when I was 15. This was so that I could get a membership at the base auto club. The car really wasn’t drivable, but it was something that I could learn mechanics on from guys like Bill Parker and Bob Wrightson at the autoclub.

In a way I wish I had never been a member of the autoclub. My brother had a friend named Greg. Greg was younger than me, but much like my brother they were both built larger than me.

I stayed clear of Greg. Avoided him at all costs.

Anyways somehow Greg got it in his head that because I could tinker on cars that I was going to fix his V6 Chevy Nova.

Straight fours is all I had ever worked on at the autoclub. Never had touched an American car, especially not a V-anything. Anways, I was at work on night at Bob Becker’s workshop when my brother, Greg, and a few of their buddies show up. My brother told Greg that I could fix cars, so therefore I was going to fix Greg’s car. The car that showed up with no distributor, no ignition coil, no spark plugs, and no spark plug wires. These were all in a jumble in the trunk of the car.

As could be expected, I couldn’t fix the car.

Greg and his buddies caught up with me at a Plaza on Keele just to the south of the entrance to the base. Fuck did they ever beat the shit out of me. And it wasn’t like it was anywhere near a fair fight. I was maybe 110 lbs tops. There was Greg. Greg had to be about 5″ taller than me and maybe weighed close to 150 to 160 lbs. And the other 3 were about the same size and stature. There was also this older guy, can’t remember his name, but he had to be around 40 or 50 years old.

I remember avoiding home and instead heading over to Billy Donuts on Wilson Ave.

The owner called the cops.

But ratting out on Greg would have been the end of me so I refused to say anything.

I knew that telling Richard would have been an absolute waste of time.

This was pretty well when I started to make sure that no one knew that I had any interests in cars or fixing things.

The first road worthy car that I ever owned was in Edmonton, AB.

I bought that car in August of 1990.

I made a mistake and I quit the job that I had prior to ensuring that the job I was going to was going to work out.

So I ended up on welfare.

A guy in my apartment building noticed that I liked to work on cars so he asked me if I wanted to make some extra money under the table working on cars for his brother. Who could turn down extra money to make ends meet when you’re on welfare. Welfare barely paid the rent at the time, let alone bought goceries.

I worked on a few cars for his brother Adam who owned a used car dealership on the south east side of Edmonton.

There were some sketchy things going on in that shop. So I didn’t stay very long.

It wouldn’t be until sometime in the 2010s that I would find out that in the years after I had involvement with Adam that some skectchy shit really was going down in that shop.

The car that I bought in 1990 was my transport when I decided to leave the welfare rolls in Alberta and try my luck in Vancouver in February of 1992.

I spent so much time on and off living in that car. The best place for car camping at the time was Stanley Park. There were also industrial areas that one could camp out in.

Around the spring of 1993 I couldn’t afford to keep the car any longer so I got rid of it for free with a scrap dealer.

I ended up moving back to Toronto around the fall of 1993. That didn’t work out so well so I ended up back in Vancouver by May of 1994.

I lived down at the Sally Anne until about August of 1994.

From ’94 to ’95 I primarily rode the bus, rode a bicycle, or walked to work from New Westminster to East Richmond.

In 1996 I got my hands on a very good condition 1984 Diesel Rabbit.

Kept that until I moved downtown in 1998.

I’ve owned a few motorcycles through my life, but I’ve only kept them for a few seasons.

Most were used, only one was new of a showroom floor.

That one was written off by a cab driver that ICBC found 100% at fault for the incident.

After getting cut off by that cab driver and seeing how easily someone else could end my life for the sake of beating a green light I realized that motorcycling wasn’t for me.

My greatest fear of getting injured in a motorcycle collision isn’t dying. It’s surviving. Motorcycle helmets really don’t protect the rider when struck by another vehicle. Motorcycle helmets, much like bicycle helmets are meant to protect the rider from incidents involving the motorcycle rider alone.

My father had a friend named Jacques Choquette. One night while Jacques was riding home on his motorcycle Jacques hit a pedestrian. Jacques ended up losing part of his skull and part of his brain. The guy was a fucking psychotic nutcase after the incident. No impulse control. Anger outbursts from nowhere. Seizures. Jacques was the one who tried to strangle me in the basement of the PMQ on CFB Downsview while my father stood to the side chuckling.

That’s what I’m most afraid of. Ending up with brain damage and having to live for 40 or 50 years like a fucking psycho like Jacques.

I bought a motorcycle back in 2020 at the start of the pandemic. I rode it for that first summer. It has sat in the under ground parking lot since.

I wanted to do some modification to it, but my depression told me that I’d get started and never finish the fucking thing off like I never finish anything else off.

So all in all, I’d say that even though I’ve had my driver’s licence since I was 17, I’ve actually only driven a car for maybe 5 years of my life. That’s about 14% of my adult driving life.

Total riding time of motorcycles would be less than 8%.

Riding bicycles would be close to 20%, riding the bus would be another 20%, walking would be almost 46% if not more. I’m probably a little high on the bicycle and the bus.

I think that I can credit my father and his driving skills and his belittling attitude.

Richard could be a complete asshole behind the wheel.

Everyone else on the road was a stupid asshole, a stupid cunt, a fucking idiot, or some fucking goddamn asshole that got their licence from a cracker jack box.

This is why he was forever rear ending other vehicles.

I could never figure out why he would never get his pride and joy fixed after various collisions. But as I would learn later in life, you never wanted to claim against your insurance for any accident that you were at fault for. That’s how the ’83 Mustang GT went from being a showroom new car in 1983 to a wreck with the driver’s seat falling through the floor and needing wood to hold it in place by the time I moved out of the house in 1987.

The collisions I know of from being in the car when they happened were the time he rear-ended a Jaguar over by the Don Valley parkway. Slammed right into the back of the car at an intersection. As usual it was my fault becuase if I hadn’t asked him for a ride to work this would never have happened.

The next time was on Keele Street just before we got back on to base. He rear ended a Metropolitan Toronto Police Service cruiser. And this was back in the day when they were bright white with yellow reflective strips. I didn’t stick around to see who he blamed the collision on. I just walked home.

Richard wasn’t adverse to throttle blips to let the driver infront of him at the lights know that he was displeased with the fact that because they were driving so slow he got caught behind them at the light.

He also had this habit of passing cars as we were coming to intersections and once he passed through the intersection he’d start swearing at the light to change and teach that silly fucker a lesson.

Of course there were also the times that he drove drunk.

He wrote off his 1969 Ford Thunderbird that he had bought with his retention bonus. Wrote that car off around 1975. Wrote it off in the PMQs of Canadian Forces Base Shearwater. That put me in the hospital for stitches.

The next time that he crashed a car due to drinking was after our mother left in 1976 / 77. He had gone to the junior ranks mess on CFB Summerside and was driving back home to our PMQ at 353 High Street in Summerside. Somewhere on the highway he crossed the centre line and clipped an on coming car.

My brother and I were more or less unscathed. But I ended up with a fat lip after the other driver asked my father if he had been drinking and I told the other driver that my father was drink at the bar on base. Guess I wasn’t supposed to rat out the rage fueled alcoholic, was I?

Maybe that’s why I don’t care much for driving. My father’s rage behind the wheel and his alcoholism ruined driving for me.

Also, not having help with my cars in the early days made me realize just exactly how much of a fucking money pit cars are and how one’s paycheque just goes into the endless pit of car culture.

Sunday October 22 2023

So, as it turns out a coworker and their spouse have discovered my blog, and they’ve been reading it.

We had a little talk on Thursday about the contents of my blog.

Of course they haven’t had the chance to digest the entire blog, so I thought that I would write this post which quickly recaps everything I feel to be of importance.

At the end I’ll recap my reasons for desiring Medical Assistance in Dying.

I was born into a very dysfunctional military family.

My father’s mother had been through Indian Residential school as a child and bore the emotional damage that one could expect. Grandma was a full fledged alcoholic by the time she was in her late teens / early twenties. She had my uncle Norman when she was about 16. She had my father when she was 23. Uncle Norman was full Cree. My father was half Cree half Irish.

My grandmother raised my father and my uncle Doug on her own and she obviously transferred her emotional damage to my father as he was already a very heavy drinker when he joined the Royal Canadian Navy in 1963 at age 17. His academic abilities were nothing to be proud of as his grade 9 math had to be upgraded before he could officially join the navy. His academic skills left a lot to be desired and he was of no help to me with school related topics.

In fact, teachers calling home would often enrage him beyond all reason. To him, school was a daycare centre where children were sent to keep their mouths shut and to stare at the chalkboard.

I was born in 1971. And since the day I was born until age 16 I lived in military housing. 7 PMQs on five different bases in four different provinces by the time I was 12.

My mother left in 1976. She couldn’t take my father’s drinking or physical abuse any longer. Due to the unique nature of military dependents (children and non-serving spouses) living in military housing, my father was able to have the base military police remove my mother from the PMQ and to bar her from contacting my brother and I.

My father brought his alcoholic and emotionally damaged mother into the PMQ to raise my brother and I. She lived with us in the PMQ attached to Canadian Forces Base Summerside from 1976 until the spring of 1978 when she returned to Edmonton, AB. During her time with us on Summerside she put me into Sunday school and we also had involvement with the Knights of Columbus.

In the spring of 1978 my father obtained a compassionate posting from Captain Lynda Tyrell, military social worker for the Atlantic region of the Canadian Forces. The Canadian Forces paid to relocate him to Canadian Forces Base Namao just north of Edmonton, AB. Richard took my brother and I with him from Prince Edward Island to Alberta without sole custody and without the permission of our mother. Doing so is a criminal code offence called “kidnapping”.

The ability of serving members to use the Canadian Forces to transfer them and their children to a different jurisdiction from which the freshly ejected spouse was residing in was documented in a 1996 study commissioned by the Canadian Armed Forces titled “Canadian Forces response to Spousal Abuse”.

If it wasn’t for my grandmother calling my mother in the fall of 1978, I don’t think my mother would have known where we ended up moving to.

In August of 1978, Canadian Armed Forces officer Captain Father Angus McRae had been posted to Canadian Forces Base Namao from Canadian Forces Station Holberg due to allegations that he had inappropriate relations with a teenage boy on the station.

On CFB Shearwater and CFB Summerside my father was rarely home. He was happy to have his career in the military as it gave him a reason to not be at home raising his children. He could go off on “military exercises”, drink and hang out with the boys and leave a woman at home to raise his kids as raising kids was obviously woman’s work.

In order to do this on CFB Namao he brought his mother into the PMQ to raise my brother and I. Grandma brought her husband Roy William (Andy) Anderson into the PMQ with her. Grandma and Andy lived in the ground floor bedroom.

Much like on CFB Summerside, grandma put me into Sunday School at the base chapel. Grandma would take my brother and I to Sunday service at the chapel. In fact we had our Sunday church clothes that we’d wear, and after church we had to change into our regular clothes before we could go out and play.

Grandma also put me in the Red Cross learn to swim program, the base hockey team for 6 to 8 year olds, the Youth Bowling Council at the base bowling alley, Beavers, and basketball.

My grandmother had a fierce temper and an equally fierce temper. She wasn’t above using sticks or whatever else was at hand to inflict corporal punishment. Her two actual maxims were “Children are to be seen and not heard” and “Children only speak when spoken to”

Towards the winter of 1978 both grandma and Andy had been drinking very heavily in the PMQ. Andy took a shower one night to “sober up”. He slipped in the shower and cracked his skull. Once Andy went into the hospital, he never came out again. And this is what led to my brother and I requiring the babysitting services of one of Captain Father Angus McRae’s altar boys. This altar boy was born in June of 1965 and had the initials of P.S..

P.S. would turn out to be quite a pedophile. He had an intense sexual attraction to children, especially boys. P.S. was late 13 when he started abusing children on Canadian Forces Base Namao. He wouldn’t stop until he was investigated by the base military police in May of 1980.

May of 1980 is the same period of time that the babysitter had been found buggering me in his bedroom with his penis firmly inserted into my rectum. It’s just too unbelievable that I was found being buggered by the babysitter right around the time that the military police, specifically Sgt. Mossman and Sgt. Clark, investigated P.S. due to numerous complaints that the base military police received due to the complaints of “numerous parents” on the base.

P.S. was a very angry teenager. He didn’t have the self restraint and self control that Captain McRae would have. See, Captain McRae would get us intoxicated before he abused us. Captain McRae would also be very careful with what he did so there wasn’t any evidence.

There were times when the babysitter would cause me to have rectal bleeding. All grandma would say when she saw my underwear is that I had to learn how to wipe my ass properly and that I had to stop scratching myself.

As I said, there was no confiding in grandma.

And there was no way I could confide in my father.

Even at 7 and 8 years of age, kids on base knew what queers and fags were. And you knew sure as fuck that you didn’t want it known that you touched another boy’s penis or let another boy touch your penis. And getting fucked by another boy? You were just asking for a beating.

So no, there was no telling my father.

The babysitter wanted every type of sexual pleasure. And if you didn’t perform and pleasure him he’d make his displeasure felt.

The memories of what he did to me, what he made me do to him, what he did to my brother, what he made me do to my brother, what he made my bother do to me, and what he did with the other kids will be with me until the day I die.

As I told Master Corporal Christian Cyr of the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service on May 3rd, 2011, there were 5 visits that the babysitter took me to see the father at the base chapel. I don’t remember anything about the visits after the “sickly sweet grape juice”

In the aftermath of CFB Namao, my family was moved off the base and sent down to Canadian Forces Base Griesbach.

At the school on base for the children of military families I started seeing a man named “Terry”. Terry was upset at what I had been doing with the babysitter on CFB Namao. He said that boys who had sex with other boys had a mental illness called “homosexuality”. He said that because of what I let the babysitter do to my brother that I was a sexual pervert. On the days where my father would attend meetings with Terry my father would agree with Terry like Terry had some magical power over my father.

Terry would warn me that he had the base military police watching me and that if I ever tried to kiss or touch another boy that I would be going to psychiatric hospital for treatment.

Terry told my father that it was a good idea to not let me play in sports any longer as I obviously couldn’t control myself around other boys. I know that my father took this to heart as there was a school field trip that he specifically wouldn’t allow me to go on as “there would be naked boys in the change room and that I wouldn’t be able to control myself”.

In the spring of 1982 the relationship between my father and his girlfriend was deteriorating. He told me and my brother that in no uncertain terms that if she left, he’d put our bodies in a duffle bag and that no one would ever find us.

In the summer of 1982 I started going to a “special school” that treated homosexual children. Or so my father and Terry used to say.

In the spring of 1983 my father said that I had been “expelled” from the special school for kissing another boy. When we moved from CFB Griesbach in Edmonton, AB and went to CFB Downsview in North York, ON in April of 1983 I asked my father why we had to move. He said that the counsellors wanted to give me drugs to stop me from liking boys, and that he didn’t want me to take these drugs so in fact he was saving me and that I owed him for that.

When we arrived in Toronto, I hated it. I was big. It was polluted. And going to civilian schools was a nightmare.

When I told my father that I didn’t like Toronto he unleashed on me. Said that the was sick and tired of me fucking with his military career. Said that I cost him dearly.

Over the time on CFB Downsview my father would often lay into me whenever my brother would get into trouble. He’d say that my brother was acting the way he was because I had let / allowed the babysitter to touch my brother, that I wasn’t raising my brother the way that I was supposed to.

I have no doubt in my mind that because of my grandmother’s alcoholism, she’d often get pissed for days and that it would be my father’s responsibility to raise his younger brother Douglas. Out of the two, Doug was the more casual and more laid back. Richard was the anal retentive prick. Doug was grandma’s favourite of the two. Whereas Richard was the more dependable of the two.

In the summer of 1985 while my brother and I were staying in Edmonton with our grandmother over the summer Richard and Sue got into a massive domestic dispute that seemed to revolve around the fact that my father hadn’t divorced my mother until the spring of 1985 even though he had married Sue in a private ceremony in the spring of 1982.

September 1985 was the first birthday that I had had since my mother left in 1976. Richard promised that he would never forget my birthday again. He never acknowledged my birthday after that.

I quit school at the end of grade 8. I only went to school for one month of grade 9.

I left the house when I was 16, not too long after my 16th birthday.

I didn’t know at the time that 6 years prior that I had been diagnosed with major depression, severe anxiety, an intense fear of men, and an intense fear of being touched. I was found that I didn’t have the ability to form friendships. I also couldn’t express my emotions.

All I knew from my father’s constant reminders is that I was a lazy fucking cocksucker who couldn’t get out of bed on time for school. My suicidal ideations were just my attempts to “get attention”. My frequent outbursts of tears were just because I was just a fucking crybaby trying to get attention. Etc, etc, etc.

I didn’t have many conversation with my father after that.

In June of 1990 he called me up and invited me to move back to Edmonton with him on his final posting. He said that he was going to try to make the family work this time. This of course was more bullshit from Richard.

In August of 2006 I had an intense conversation with Richard. He wouldn’t accept any blame for the events leading up to us requiring a babysitter. In fact, he blamed his mother for hiring the babysitter even though he claimed he told grandma not to hire the babysitter. I told Richard of my plans to press charges against the babysitter as I was sick and tired of being blamed for what the babysitter did to my brother. Richard warned me about doing that. He said if I went sticking my nose into that I might not like the smell of the shit.

After this I started changing.

Not coming out of the closet, but not afraid to try to figure out what I was. This is the period of time that I started wearing dresses and playing with makeup.

This is also when I legally changed my name to Bobbie Garnet Bees.

I don’t think Richard reacted too well to me changing my name. I did write him a letter explaining why I legally changed my name. But I think it was the fact that I wasn’t sure of my gender or my orientation at the time that caused him to break off all communications with me. After this he would never answer my calls again and my letters to him were always sent back “RTS”.

In 2010 I left the hospital to go work for a private employer. This didn’t last too long as there were massive fights and disagreements going on at the shareholder level. One faction of shareholders decided to fire everyone at the business. I took these shareholders to the Supreme Court of BC and just before a trial date was to be booked, their lawyer called me and offered to settle out of court.

Due to this I decided that enough was enough, that I was going to go after the babysitter.

I emailed the Edmonton Police Service and gave them a brief explanation of what happened and what I wanted to do. From certified tribunal records I would learn that the Edmonton Police Service contacted the Alberta Serious Incident Response Team. ASIRT contacted the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service. And the Master Warrant Officer Terry Eisenmenger told Warrant Officer Blair Hart to explain to the Edmonton Police Service that “at the time of the offences, the RCMP would have had the jurisdiction for this investigation, but that the CFNIS were going to take this investigation”. MWO Eisenmenger then instructed WO Hart to check with the RCMP to see if I had ever tried to report this matter to them.

I was contacted on March 5th, 2011 by Petty Officer Steve Morris from the CFNIS Western Region. He told me that the military police were going to investigate this matter. I asked him what had changed as when I tried to report this to the military police in 1984 and 1990 I was told that this was a matter for the civilian police. PO Morris gave me a brief description of how the CFNIS came to be. Of course he left out the whole matter of the troubled missions in both Bosnia and Somalia and how the CFSIU were found to be utterly useless due to direct exposure to manipulation by the chain of command.

One of the first things that the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service did in March of 2011 was to request the investigation paperwork from the Canadian Forces Special Investigation Unit investigation into the matter of Captain Father Angus McRae in 1980 along with the Courts Martial transcripts from Captain Father Angus McRae’s courts martial which ran from July 15th to July 18th, 1980.

The fact that the CFNIS in March of 2011 knew to request CFSIU DS 120-10-80 and the transcripts from Courts Martial CM62 indicates that the CFNIS in 2011 knew what this investigation was all about even before my statement was taken on Thursday March 31st, 2011 at VPD headquarters by master corporal Robert Jon Hancock on the CFNIS Western Region.

I have no doubt in my mind that I am not the first person from CFB Namao to go after the babysitter, and as such I have no doubt in my mind that the CFNIS have experience with the babysitter and his relationship as Captain McRae’s accomplice.

In fact, with the sheer number of victims that the babysitter abused along with the sheer number of children that the babysitter escorted over to the chapel to be abused by Captain McRae I have no doubt in my mind that the ghosts from the babysitter’s past keep coming back to haunt him and are probably what drove him to attempt suicide in the year 2000.

I March of 2001, due to his suicide attempt, the babysitter launched a civil action against the Minister of National Defence. The Minister of National Defence, the Canadian Armed Forces, and the Archdiocese of Edmonton settled with the babysitter in November of 2008. The settlement cheque was disbursed to the babysitter in December of 2008.

I also have no doubt that the CFNIS and the Provost Marshal are well aware of the babysitter’s civil claim and subsequent out of court settlement with the Canadian Armed Forces.

As such, I have no doubt that the CFNIS, the Provost Marshal, and the Vice Chief of Defence Staff all have specific protocols and procedures in place for dealing with complaints against the babysitter.

Due to very odd and unique language in the National Defence Act, the Vice Chief of Defence Staff has the authority to issue directives to any CFNIS investigation. As the Military Police Complaints Commission has indicated in the past, the VCDS has no legal training, no legal background, and is very political in nature only being one or two steps removed from the Minister of National Defence who is a political appointee.

Why else would the CFNIS in March of 2011 request CFSIU DS 120-10-80 and the Courts Martial transcripts from the archives?

As I was told by Sgt. Damon Tenaschuk in 2017, it was odd that this paperwork still existed. Paperwork like this is usually destroyed seven years after it was created, unless it was used periodically. This paperwork should have been destroyed in 1987. But it has obviously been frequently used since 1987.

My interview with Mcpl Hancock was interesting. It was the first time that I had told anyone outside of my father and “Terry” of the abuse and what had happened on CFB Namao.

Everything in the interview was going okay until towards then end when Mcpl Hancock kept asking me if there was anything else I wanted to talk about, anything at all, was there anything that I wasn’t telling him about from CFB Namao.

What Mcpl Hancock didn’t share with me at this time was that he already read the CFSIU investigation paperwork and that he already knew what the babysitter had done.

On May 3rd, 2011 I was contacted by Mcpl Christian Cyr. I don’t know why Cyr had bothered to contact me. And in many ways it probably would have been much better of he didn’t. But Cyr has a problem. He is one of those types of guys that once he knew a secret, he has to gloat to others about his secret.

Cyr called me and left a voice mail message for me to call him back, so I returned his call. Cyr, being the braggart that he was, blurted out two pieces of information that would prove that he had seen the CFSIU paperwork from 1980 and that he had seen the Courts Martial transcripts.

He first tried telling me that when the babysitter was found buggering me in the spring of 1980, that the babysitter was only 12 or 13 years of age. Next Cyr asked me if I knew anything about the base chaplain being charged with molesting children during the same period of time that I was accusing the babysitter of abusing me.

The problem with the date of birth, and this was confirmed by the Military Police Complaints Commission in the November 2020 final report, is that the speculation of the babysitter’s age only exists in the CFSIU paperwork from 1980. The babysitter was in fact born on June 20th, 1965. The was the D.O.B. given to me my the RCMP in August of 2012. This D.O.B. was also confirmed by two newspaper articles involving the babysitter in his adult years.

Why did this error in the babysitter’s age exist at all? It seemed to stem from the CFSIU investigation back in 1980 as a way to block the RCMP from being called on base to deal with the babsitter. If the babysitter was under 14, then it wasn’t much use calling the police in as the Juvenile Delinquents Act really didn’t call for any type of punishment for offenders under 14.

But at the time, the Canadian Forces had to be aware of the babysitter’s true age as the Canadian Forces couldn’t conduct a service tribunal for sexual assaults where consent wasn’t a possibility. In 1980 the age of consent was 14.

And the Military Police Complaints Commission in November of 2020 confirmed that the CFNIS had done CPIC checks of the babysitter and that these CPIC checks had the correct date and age of the babysitter. Again, the MPCC noted that this error in age existed only in the CFSIU paperwork and no where else. Meaning that Mcpl Cyr had read the investigation paperwork from 1980 and already knew what the babysitter had done.

Because of my interaction with Cyr, I was able to do a Google search for “CFB Namao Molesting Priest”. This is how I discovered the whole sordid history of what happened on that base and how even back in 1980 the Canadian Forces and the Department of National Defence “threw a veil of secrecy” over all aspect of the courts martial. The Canadian Forces in 1980 didn’t want the Canadian public to know that children on bases weren’t safe from the pedophilic children of other service members or predator priests, especially not seeing as how these priests were members of the regular force and held the rank of Captain.

Because of my interaction with WO Hart on July 18th, 2011 and his insistence that my case wasn’t going anywhere due to a complete lack of believable evidence I decided to track down my records for that “special school” that I went to for treatment of my homosexuality.

Was I ever in for a very rude awakening.

There was no program for homosexual children. I was in a program for emotionally disturbed children.

But even more shocking than that was who “Terry” was and why my ball-less wonder of a father hung from every word that Terry said. Terry was Captain Terry Totzke, military social worker with Canadian Forces Western Command. My ball-less wonder of a father would have had to pay attention to every thing that Terry had to say of he wanted to keep his career in the Canadian Forces.

Terry, seeing as how he knew about the babysitter, and that he knew about Captain McRae, was obviously working on blaming me for what had happened to me and my brother on CFB Namao with the goal of having me forever keep my mouth shut about the abuse.

Other interesting things I learnt from my social service paperwork.

  1. My brother and I had both been brought to the attention of Captain Totzke due to our bizarre behaviour when we started to attend school once we moved from CFB Namao in October of 1980.
  2. I was sent for psychological testing and I was found to:
    • be suffering from major depression
    • be suffering from severe anxiety
    • be terrified of men
    • was extremely terrified of being touched.
    • was convinced that my father was going to drown me in the toilet
  3. My father was found to:
    • Not take responsibility for the family
    • Blamed others for problems with his family
    • Blamed his son’s emotional problems on his alcoholic mother who was cruel to his children, especially when she was inebriated, which was frequently.
    • claimed that he had sole custody of his children.

The expulsion? Nope, I wasn’t expelled. Captain Terry Tozke was warned by Albertya Social Services that I was supposed to be removed from my home and placed into foster care or residential care as a means of persuading my father to participate in the family counselling as they were beinging to form the opinion that my issues were all related to major dysfunction in the household that was due to known issues with my father. I was pulled out of the Westfield program days after this meeting.

The surprise move to Ontario from Alberta was no doubt due to the desire of Captain Totzke and my father to get me out of the jursidiction of Alberta Social Services.

According to my social service paperwork, I was supposed to have been instutionalized in a psychiatric facility for children both in Alberta and then in Ontario. Captain Totzke, Captain Tyrell, and my father never followed through with any psychiatric treatment.

If I was so emotionally disturbed as a result of the 1-1/2 years of sexual abuse on Canadian Forces Base Namao, why were Totzke and my father so against me receiving treatment?

Secrets.

As long as I lived at home with my father, Totzke had direct control over me. If he wanted me to believe that I was the author of my own misfortune on CFB Namao, then so be it. If he wanted to cement this belief any harder, then he could just make sure that I understood that I was to blame for what happened to my brother.

If I was removed from the home, then Totzke would lose his control over me. And whoever it was up the chain of command that decided that CFB Namao was to remain a secret would not have been happy. I guess that the reasoning was that if I was taken out of my father’s care that I would start talking about CFB Namao and then the civilian authorities might start sticking their nose into the military’s business.

My father also had his own reasons for not wanting me placed in foster care or residential care. He lied to Alberta Social Services when he said that he had been awared sole custody of my brother and I. In 2013 the PEI government revealed that Richard only made an application for custody, but never follow through. He was never awared sole custody by any legal authority in Canada. He committed parental kidnapping. If the courts found out about this, Richard would have been looking at not only the loss of his kids, but also the loss of his military career, and possible jail time, and the very real possibility of monthly child support payments.

The CFNIS investigation was ended on November 4th 2011 when PO Steve Morris contacted me and said that the CFNIS couldn’t find any evidence to indicate that the babysitter was capable of what I accused him of.

On November 27th, 2011, after a plea in the Facebook groups for former military dependents I contacted a man named Fred Cunningham whom lived in St. Albert, AB.

Fred had a lot to say about the 1980 investigation into Captain McRae. He said that the investigation was started because of P.S.’s molestation of numerous young children on the base. I asked Fred how old the babysitter was in 1980. Fred said that he was certain that the babysitter turned 15 just before Captain McRae’s court martial in July of 1980.

Fred stated that the military police tried to have the matter moved to civilian court seeing as how the majority of children were under the age of 14. According to Fred, the “brass” intentionally dismissed all of the charges brought against captain McRae for any child under the age of 14. P.S. was the only child over the age of 14. This meant that Captain McRae’s accomplice was officially recognized by the Canadian Armed Forces as Captain McRae’s only victim. The rest of us were thrown under the bus.

Fred said that when the charges for the other children were dropped one boy in particular became enraged and swore that P.S. had stabbed him in the back. Fred said that this boy, who was also named Fred was a prolific pyromanic who had set numerous fires on the base. I asked Fred if he was insinuating that the young Fred had any responsibility for the fire at the babysitter’s PMQ which caused $56k in 1980 dollars worth of damage and resulted in the death of a civilian gas fitter. Fred said that he was going to refuse to answer that.

Fred did confirm to me the fire that occured in PMQ #26 on June 23rd, 1980 and that this fire did in fact result in the death of a person, but he wouldn’t say who this person was.

I submitted two FOIs to DND for fire information related to addresses that the Namao telephone book indicated that this boy’s family resided in on CFB Namao. Both of these FOIs came back and indicated that this boy was in fact a known pyromanic and had set the fires that had occured at this family’s PMQs. That he had a tendency to light fires and then “play the hero” after “discovering” the fire. One of the fire marshal reports indicate that Fred A. and P.S. were friends and that they had been playing together prior to one of the fires at F.A.’s house. The fire marshal report also indicated that F.A. was currently not in school as he was in the process of being sent to an institution for treatment related to his pyromania.

Fred also said that the military police did everything in their power to try to bring the RCMP in to deal with the babysitter, but that the brass wasn’t going for it.

Fred implored me to keep this information to myself as he wasn’t legally allowed to discuss this. He wouldn’t tell me what he meant. I would later learn that the Official Secrets Act / the Security of Information Act makes it an offence for anyone who was ever subject to the Code of Service Discipline to discuss ANY information that they had learned of while they were on a defence establishment. Basically anyone who was ever a member of the Canadian Armed Forces is barred from talking about anything they were involved in while they were on a base. This would easily apply to members of the military police or the CFSIU for any investigation that they were involved in while on a base.

As I would learn later on, there were two flaws in the pre-1998 National Defence Act that allowed the Canadian Armed Forces to hide and bury not only the events of CFB Namao but quite honestly.

The first and most horrific flaw that was removed from the National Defence Act in 1998 was the Summary Investigation Flaw.

In the military justice system at the time there was no such thing as a “prosecutor”. After an investigation the CFSIU would lay charges directly against the alleged offender. The charges were then forwarded to the commanding officer of the accused. The commanding officer would then review the charges and either cause them to proceed to summary investigation, to a court martial, to a civilian tribunal, or the commanding officer could dismiss any or all of the charges.

The Canadian Armed Forces confirmed that captain father Angus McRae’s commanding officer was the base commander of Canadian Forces Base Namao, colonel Daniel Edward Munro. Daniel Edward Munro is a retiree living in Victoria, BC. He retired from the Canadian Forces a Brigadier General.

As the base commander of CFB Namao, Munro would have had direct control over the base military police and the Canadian Forces Special Investigations Unit Western Region detachment.

I contacted Mr. Munro in 2016. Oddly he didn’t want to discuss anything about CFB Namao. I should also point out that it was Munro’s decision to not call in the provincial fire marshal to review the fire at P.S.’s PMQ.

After my telephone call with Mr. Cunningham I wrote a letter to the Canadian Forces Provost Marshal and discussed what I had been told by Mr. Cunningham. This letter was sent in the last two weeks of December 2011.

In January of 2012 I received a telephone call from lieutenant colonel Gilles Sansterre. Sansterre was the Canadian Forces Provost Marshal at the time. He told me that I couldn’t believe anything that this “Fred Cunningham” person had told me. The military couldn’t find any records of Cunningham. Sansterre said that maybe this “Cunningham guy” was giving me information that he had heard second or third hand.

I would learn in 2017 that Fred Cunningham was warrant officer Fredrick R. Cunningham. WO Cunningham was the Acting Section Commander of the CFSIU at the time and had been personally tasked by the base security officer, captain David Pilling with investigating captain father Angus McRae for having committed acts of homosexuality with young boys on the base. WO Cunningham was also the prosecution’s main witness against captain McRae.

And, more importantly, everything Mr. Cunningham had told me was backed up in the CFSIU paperwork. The very same paperwork that the CFNIS had in 2011.

In 2012 I filed a complaint with the Military Police Complaints Commission. This review went nowhere as reviews are extremely limited and in my matter the Canadian Forces Provost Marshal willing and intentionally withheld information from the Military Police Complaints Commission. The Provost Marshal hid the existence of CFSIU DS 120-10-80 and the court martial transcripts from the Military Police Complaints Commission. These were two very important documents as in CFSIU DS 120-10-80 is the babysitter’s statement to the military police in which he admitted to molesting numerous children on the base and in the court martial transcripts captain McRae’s defence counsel is using the babysitter pedophilia and current psychological treatment for being sexually attracted to young children to discredit his testimony against captain McRae.

Even when submitting the CFNIS brief to Alberta Crown Prosecutor Jon Werbicki in October of 2011, master corporal Robert Jon Hancock failed to disclose to the crown that P.S. had already been investigated by the military police for sexually abusing young children on the base and that the colonel Daniel Edward Munro had prevented the Royal Canadian Mounted Police from being brought in to deal with the babysitter.

I wonder if former Alberta Chief Crown prosecutor Orest Yeriniuk realizes that the Canadian Armed Forces intentionally withheld information from him and made him look like an absolute fool. I wonder if Alberta Crown prosecutor Jon Werbicki realizes that he was played like a cheap violin.

Giving fucked up briefs to the provincial crowns in nothing new. This was a tactic that the CFSIU employed. Give the crown such a fucked up and useless brief that only a moron would allow charges to be proceeded with. This allows the military police to state that “they thought for sure they had enough evidence” while at the same time blaming the provincial Crown knowing that the victims would almost never be allowed to see the communications between the military police and the crown.

I know exactly what the CFNIS sent to the Crown and I know what the Crown’s replies were back to the CFNIS. Alberta Crown prosecutor Jon Werbicki said that what I had endured on Canadian Forces Base Namao was nothing more than childhood curiosity and experimentation and that it was very suspicious that I never told anyone about the abuse.

Yeah, it seems that the CFNIS excised a lot of information to the Alberta Crown.:

  • They removed any mention of my grandmother living on base raising my brother and I.
  • They removed any mention of military social worker Captain Terry Totzke and the conversion therapy that I had been receiving as a result of my sexual activities with the babysitter and McRae.
  • They didn’t tell the Alberta Crown that the psychologist hired by the Canadian Forces in 1980 found that my father had a severe issue with personal responsibility and would often tell people he perceived to be in positions of authority what he thought that they wanted to hear.
  • The CFNIS failed to disclose to the Alberta Crown that Alberta Social Services was of the opinion that my father frequently lied, or as they politely said “Mr. Gill has a tendency to tell conflicting stories from one meeting to the next”
  • They didn’t disclose to the Crown that my father described my grandmother a heavy alcoholic who refused to admit to her problems and that my father described her as being very cruel to his children.
  • They didn’t tell the Alberta Crown that the babysitter had been investigated in 1980 for having molested numerous children on the base.
  • They didn’t tell the Alberta Crown about the babysitter’s predilection for young prepubescent children.
  • They didn’t tell the Alberta Crown that the babysitter was receiving psychiatric treatment at the time for his attraction to children.
  • The CFNIS didn’t disclose to the Alberta Crown that when P.S. was contacted by CFNIS investigator mcpl Robert Jon Hancock in August of 2011 that P.S. told Hancock that “anything he had been involved in as a youth has already been handled by the military and that if charges were brought against him a lawyer would handle that”. Does this allude to Munro’s decision to not allow the babysitter to be handed over to the RCMP in 1980, or does this allude to the terms of the out of court settlement agreed to between P.S. and the DOJ, the DND, and the CAF in November of 2008.

The CFNIS got the response they wanted from the Crown. No charges.

My father died in 2017.

Believe me, the world is a better place without that asshole.

But the sad thing is, he’ll never have to apologize for what he did.

It was his alcoholism and anger that caused my mother to be ejected from the PMQ.

It was his inability to take responsibility for his family that allowed his children to be cared for by his alcoholic and emotionally damaged mother.

It was my father’s fault that grandma was anywhere near us.

It was ultimately my father’s fault that my brother and I ended up with a pedophile babysitter for 1-1/2 years.

I hope that you can understand why I want Medical Assitance in Dying.

I’m not giving up.

I’m not letting the DND or the CAF “win”.

There is no winning in this matter.

The DND and the CAF are completely untouchable.

Nobody of any consequence will ever have to apologize.

There is nothing that anyone can do to erase the trauma that I suffered through, not only at the hands of the babysitter and captain McRae, but also at the hands of my own father and the hands of captain Terry Totzke.

Nothing will ever undo the fact that the CFNIS in 2011 and 2015 to 2018 did everything in their power to gas light me and to portray me as a “societal malcontent with an axe to grind against the military” or someone with money troubles who frequently jumped from one job to another.

Even during a face to face meeting with then Minister of National Defence Harjit Sajjan, he accused me of being a scammer trying to scam the Canadian Forces for easy money.

Nothing will ever erase the 40+ years that I’ve suffered with severe mental illnesses gifted to me by P.S., captain McRae, captain Totzke, colonel Dan E. Munro, and the whole host of other members of the Canadian Forces that wanted the events of CFB Namao to stay a secret dead and buried in the past.

Medical Assistance in Dying is something that I want.

Even just thinking about my death and being put to sleep fills me with a serene peace and tranquility.

No matter what people wish, there is no way that I can ever get over the betrayal, the pain, the suffering.

And I refuse to live with the damage from horrific chain of command decision both from 1980 and from the present day.

Four simple medications:

  • Midazolam
  • Propofol
  • Rocuronium
  • Bupivacaine

And all the suffering, misery, and torment are gone forever.

My life will forever be full of regret until the day I die. Regret for things that were denied to me, regret for things that I was not allowed to do.

And that’s the end of today’s blog posting.

The theme songs of my youth.

There were a couple of songs that still stand out from my youth.

It wasn’t until my father fled from Alberta to Ontario in April of 1983 to avoid my apprehension by Alberta Social Services that I started to become exposed to popular music outside of what my uncle Doug would buy for me.

Up until we arrived at Canadian Forces Base Downsview in Ontario I had never gone to a public school. My education up to the point was at schools for military dependents on base.

My grandmother had the stereo system glued to 790 CFCW. Richard was much the same. He really only listened to country music.

My first taste of music that wasn’t country and western was the kid’s disco that used to be put on every Sunday at the Lamplighter Pub on CFB Namao for the military kids that lived on Lancaster Park on CFB Namao.

When we arrived in Toronto this was the first time that I had been exposed to music that wasn’t country.

There was Pop, Rock and Roll, Heavy Metal, New Age, Progressive Rock, Hip-hop, Rap, Reggae, Top 40, you name it and the kids at Sheppard Public School listened to it.

It was also at this time that I began to realize that songs could tell stories. And more than just about rusty pickup trucks, dead dogs, and cheatin’ wives.

Whenever I hear the opening saxophone on “Overkill” by Men At Work I can visualize myself looking over the ravine out of the bedroom window of our PMQ at 94 Sunfield Road where we lived prior to moving to 223F Stanley Greene Park. I can also kinda smell and feel the humidity of that first summer living in Toronto.

Another song that will take me to back is “Come Dancing” by the Kinks. My brother absolutely hated the line “It’s only natural”. “Our House” by Madness is another one that would drive him bonkers if I sang along with it.

One of the first songs that I noticed that kinda spoke to me about what things were like at home was “Where is this love?” by the Payolas.

As psychologically damaged as my grandmother was, my father was even worse. My father had his anger, his depression, his PTSD, his alcoholism, and his physical strength. Under no circumstance did you ever want Richard upset with you. Living with him was like walking on egg shells.

If things had gone to shit at work for Richard you didn’t want to bother him. If he had too much to drink at the mess he wasn’t too bad when he was pissed drunk, but the next day when he was having his hangover you just steered the fuck clear of him. Sometimes when Richard was a little too pissed drunk for Sue’s liking she’d kick him out of bed and banish Richard to the living room to sleep. Usually not on the couch though. He’d usually be on the floor, rolling around stark naked and screaming at the top of his lungs. Even when we’d try to take Richard a blanket or try to calm him down Sue would come down and tell us to leave him alone, that he had to learn his lesson. So, it would usually be a sleepless night listening ti him yell and howl from the living room.

It was a few years after this that I heard another song that kinda spoke to me. It was “Luka” by Suzanne Vega.

The third song that I had heard of was actually introduced to me by someone else. I didn’t hear this song on my own as it was slightly before my time.

I was working for Ed Blaha, Bruce Beveridge, and Dirk Verdoold at Rainbow Games. Ed worked for the Metropolitan Toronto Police at Central Traffic. Dirk was an officer at 14th Division. Bruce was Ed’s childhood friend from when they grew up together in Montreal.

The three of them had purchased a pool hall at Keele and Sheppard on the North East corner of the base. Initially there was a fourth partner, Gary Mountjoy, but he sold his interest in the business very early on. I started working there in late ’87 – early ’88.

One of the things that Ed noticed right off the bat is that even though I was 16. Richard really didn’t seem to give a fuck where I was or how late I was out to. I would frequently sleep overnight in the work shop. And not once would Richard come looking for me.

And things were getting rough at home for other reasons as well.

Rainbow Games provided video games, pinball machines, and juke boxes to bars and donut shops across the Greater Toronto region.

One day Ed came back from the records wholesaler with an assortment of records for the various juke boxes.

He handed me one 45 and told me to put it in the juke box and play it.

Ed told me to sit down and listen to it.

So I lit up a smoke and drank my coffee and listened to the song as it came on.

It was “Cat’s in the Cradle” by Harry Chapin.

This song, as touching as it was, only kinda touched on my family life at home.

See “Cat’s in the Cradle” is about a father who is so tied up in his work that he doesn’t have time to spend with his son like his son wishes that he would, and then when his son has grown up and the father wants to spend time with him, it’s now his son that is to busy to be there for his father. The song doesn’t seem to be about physical or mental abuse.

When the song was over Ed said that as a police officer he had worked with street kids before, and street kids don’t go there because they want to be there, they go there because there’s no one to guide them away from the streets.

Ed said that if his son was ever working for someone and his son wasn’t home for bed before 21:00 that there’d be hell to pay. The fact that my father didn’t give a shit if I didn’t return home for days on end told Ed that something wasn’t right at home.

Ed said that I was bright, that I was smart, and it was my smarts that were keeping me off the streets. Ed asked me if I felt safe at home. I told him no. I told him that in addition to my father I now faced another physical threat in the house.

Ed arranged a room for rent in a house just across the street from the pool hall. The house was a PMQ that was rented by a service member of the Canadian Forces. This guy had just broken up with his wife and his wife had left him and taken their children. He had already rented out one of the children’s bedrooms to another person. This arrangement worked fine until the summer of 1988 when the CF Housing Authority found out that he was renting rooms.

But anyways, from early 1988 until the summer of 1989, almost a year and a half, I had peace. I didn’t have to worry about physical violence or threats of physical violence. I could sleep in peace. In fact I never wet the bed again after I moved out of Richard’s house.

And while “Cat’s in the Cradle” didn’t really focus on my relationship with my father, it did have some similarities.

My father wanted nothing to do with me. And as an adult I wanted very little to do with my father.

My father really didn’t want kids. I have no kids. I don’t think my brother has reproduced either. All I know is that I’m taking this rancid Gill DNA to the grave with me.

What has stuck with me all these years about “Cat’s in the cradle” is the fact that Ed went out of his way to buy this one 45 to act as an icebreaker meant that my dysfunctional home life was actually visible for all to see.

I just wish that the right people had seen the dysfunction and reacted properly.