My Three Perky's

Memory, I'm told, is selective. I am having a terribly difficult time writing about my Meech Lake days and my mother. Don't get me wrong, I did love my mother a lot. I also adored being at the Balharrie cottage every summer. So what's the problem?

It was the period in my life when I grew aware of the dark side of life. I was getting older and beginning to see the complexities in people. My mother was a huge influence on my development. She was bright and sunny but over time I noticed her mood swings. She and I shared a bunkie and that was fun. When we were alone my mother was interesting and fun and even loving. However, when we were within her family circle I experienced a much harsher and more critical mother. I never could do anything right.

I would try very hard to not be a disappointment but somehow I always failed. It took me years to understand that my mother was viewing me through her father's eyes and trying to bend me to his standards. It was a fools game that always cast me as the loser. Since my grandpa didn't like me very much, he rarely approved of me. Hence, I was a constant source of tension for my mom. She could be harsh and exacting. She sometimes got carried away with discipline and was no stranger to using corporal punishment. Looking back I often wonder why? I wasn't a bad kid. But I was headstrong, anathema to my grandfather. I guess it was all about control. My grandmother would intervene and take my side or remove me from view. She would ask me to help her or set up a new game in the cottage that we would play. My grandma was my champion.

Somewhere in the course of events I came to believe that Mom didn't love me. So, I fixed my trust and affection on my father who I didn't disappoint at all. In fact, to him I was a source of pride. The years between seven and thirteen were my growth years, physically and emotionally just as with every child. I learned to be more wary and defensive. My innocence was wearing down. The problem of course, was that my father worked and was not always around to protect me.

I had lots of amazing and really good experiences too. My early childhood in Holland was so filled with love, it had given me a strong enough emotional base to withstand the Ottawa chill. Years later my mother would muse about how different our lives might have been, had we stayed in Holland. She often said that she loved life in Holland in spite of the hard war years.

These were the Perky years. From age eight to thirteen, we had three cats in succession, called Perky1, Perky 2, and Perky 3. They died or disappeared while we lived in the Snowdon area of Montreal. Perky 3 was not allowed to go outdoors and he lived a very long life, moving with us to Lakeside Heights in Pointe Claire. Perky 3 joined the family when I was eleven and lived well beyond my parents till he was eighteen.

Around thirteen I realized that my mother had mood swings. For many weeks she was fine and then she would become super energetic, stay up all night, start ambitious projects that would continue for several weeks until she crashed. On the way down she started to get super critical, fly into rages, be petty and vindictive, and eventually close down. I feared her most during the super energy periods because I could never be sure when the anger would begin. As an adult, I was asked by a counsellor I was seeing what emotion I remembered most from childhood. "Fear" I replied without hesitation. Fear was my dominant memory.

Today I know that my poor mother had a form of Bipolar disorder and suffered from crippling migraine headaches as well. At the time her condition was not named. She was described as having spells. The worst spell happened when I was sixteen. The depression stage lasted for nearly a year. My mom was tranquilized and spent the year as zombie. My dad and I looked after her and the household. He food shopped and did the exterior work while I cleaned, did the washing and ironing and we took turns cooking. At the same time, he went to work and I to school.

I wanted to have a normal teens life, dating and going to dances but not successfully. In the end I failed the school year. The Principal of John Rennie High Mr. R. Dixon was perplexed because he knew I was bright. In those days the teachers and principal actually knew their students. He mentioned his concern to his secretary Marian Griffiths, who was my best friend Pat's mother. This dear woman broke confidentiality (it was a matter of pride not to speak of the problems at home) and told him what had been going on in my life over the past year. He immediately passed me conditionally. I and several others in difficulty, were placed in the same class with a really caring teacher. The purpose was to focus on a stress less academic environment where we could catch up. It worked so well that I graduated high school at the top of my class with a full Fine Arts scholarship to Sir George Williams University (now renamed Concordia).

My mother recovered and never was so sick again. My parents were proud of me and my grandfather was sorry that "I never achieved much". For the first time my mother set the record straight and told him that he was mistaken: I had achieved a great deal.

There, I've written about this painful period after all, but I won't dwell here. It's time to move on.