The Canary And The Blue Bird.

Chapter 4. Family.

"What is wrong with you?!" the voice of a woman yelled, "I raised you better than this Jamie!"

"Oh cut the boy some slack, he's only ten years old, can you really blame him?" replied the voice of a man.

"What are you talking about, Michael? He's a boy! He shouldn't be acting the way he is! Saying he likes boys the way girls like them. I will not be raising a queer son." she yelled. "At least his sister is normal."

"What do you mean by that Sara? Is our son not normal to you just because he doesn't like girls?" he spat. "He's a child for god's sake! Leave him alone."

"You may be okay with this but it's certainly not right. Boys don't like other boys! It's wrong. And it's certainly not normal."

These fights would happen regularly when we were growing up. My mother hated anything that had to do with being queer, and I was no exception. She tried to forget about it, but when she heard Dani and I talking about boys in my room, she would storm downstairs and yell at my father about what he was doing to me. She would yell about how I was too soft. That I wasn't normal.

My father, on the other hand, was very accepting and understood my situation. He told me that even he liked boys when he was younger, but hadn't told my mother before or after they were married.

For one reason or another, my mother didn't want me to draw or like 'girly' things such as makeup, but my father bought me my first sketchbook and even kept it a secret from her. Sometimes he would catch me doing Dani's makeup for dance class—which she would ask me to do since at the time her dominant arm was broken—but he wouldn't tell mother about it because he knew she wouldn't be happy about it.

There were many things my mother and father didn't agree on, but they would work it out eventually. When they fought, I would hide in Dani's room, as she tried to distract me by talking about something else or I would sneak out of my window and go over to Hunter's house. His family were our neighbours at the time, so that was how I got to know him. Hunter and I first met back during the summer of 1978 when they first moved to Canada, after he had lived in Argentina since he was born. Since his first language was Spanish, and he only learned English in school, his vocabulary was very limited. As we got to know each other better, I was able to help him learn to read, write and speak English. Although it took some time, he was eventually able to speak it fluently with little to no errors, which was honestly quite impressive at the time, since we were only about five or six years old.

March 4th, 1984.

Victim: Michael J. Thomas.

Cause of death: Suicide by overdose.

That day would be the last day I ever talked to my dad. At the time I didn't understand what was going on, but now I think I do. I believed it was my mothers fault for causing him to kill himself. She tormented him for so long. I think deep down I knew what he did would be inevitable; I think I always knew it would happen.

I was only 11 at the time, and he was 37. We were both way too young for this. All he left for us was his suicide note. It was heartbreaking to read, but I knew I had to read it.

Dear beloved family, My sincere apologies for what has come.

'As I write this, a man is standing by my side. He knows this is a personal letter but is still taking peeks. That said, he did give me his word that he would send this letter to you. I am so sorry for this. I truly am. I never would have imagined I would have chosen this path, instead of you. I'm going to kill myself. I cannot live like this anymore. But, I'll die without regrets.

Well, that's what I'd like to think. The truth is there is one thing I will regret. It's that I won't be able to watch you grow anymore. Stay safe and take care of each other as much as you can.

With love, your Father.

Ps, don't give up Jamie, my little blue bird.'

During the funeral, my mother didn't even shed a tear. I think I even saw her smile.

Her husband had just killed himself because of her and she didn't even look remotely sad. He was gone and would never come back. Besides Hunter and Dani, he was the only one who accepted me for who I was.

I used self harm as a way to cope with the loss of my father. I now have faded scars on my wrists and a few on my thighs. I try to cover them up as much as I can because I don't want people to stare.

My mother saw them one time and lectured me about it. I feel like everything I did, she hated. Whether it was cooking, cleaning, talking, listening to music in my room, crying, hiding. She hated all of it.

As some people left my life, others entered into it as well.

In October, we had a student come to Canada from Iran. Her name was Roshan. Since we had a large house, she stayed with us for the time being. Back in her home country, there was a war between Iran and Iraq, which made it very unsafe for her to live there. Until her parents could afford to immigrate over, she stayed with us. At first she was very shy and stayed to herself. When she first introduced herself, she would stutter a lot. She was taught to speak French in her school, so we were able to communicate pretty well since I was fluent in both English and French. She knew a little bit of English but not enough to have a conversation.

When she was at home, she didn't wear her hijab because she said she felt safe. Even though I was a boy, she said it didn't matter when I saw her hair because she trusted me. At school on the other hand, she wore her hijab and only took it off in the girls bathroom to fix it. It took some time to get used to having another girl in the house, but we made her feel at home pretty quickly. I think she really enjoyed Dani and I's company. Roshan didn't get to know my mother too well since she would be working late nights and wake up before we got ready for school.

Dani's room had a bunk bed so Roshan slept in her room. I could hear them talking at night and laughing, but it wasn't loud enough for me to be able to hear what they were saying.

I suppose I saw her as another sister in a way. It was nice to have another person you could be open to. She didn't mind that i was queer, and she actually supported me for who I was.

It felt very relieving to have another person I could trust.