Time To Go (true story)

Time To Go

I sit alone thinking
The world around me has me spinning
Again I’ve found another reason to run
I can’t handle the life I’ve begun
Everybody wants something that I can’t give
Just leave me the hell alone and let me live
I want to be free, no attachments, no love, just me
Just leave me alone and be free


Things aren’t at all the way that I planned
My friend was on crack
I was about to get canned
He called me and begged me to push him for help
I lost his number and he his cards were dealt
His time had come
He left a young son
Family and friends could not believe
I could think of that it was time to leave

Look at what I did
I could have helped him, he was just a kid
The guilt, the shame
I could never tell them that I was to blame
If only I had called him
It was a small simple request
I should have just called him
But I was too self-obsessed  in my own freaking mess

I was young, only 18 when crack took his life
For the last 15 years, I befriended his wife
I lade there like a door mat; help take care of his
kid
Hoping it would get rid of he guilt that I hid
Instead all it did is make my guilt grow stronger
I want to be free; I can’t do this any longer

*******
This story is about a friend of mine, who was
about 18 at the time.  He met a young girl who
introduced him to crack.  There were times I can
remember walking up the stair case of my building, and
I would hear both him and my then boyfriend running to
hid.  Things got really bad for him and one day he
called me and begged me to remind him to go to rehab.
He put a lot of trust in me, so he gave me his number.
Well that day I lost the number and did't think twice
about the importance of it.  Two weeks later I recieve
a call and it was to adv me that he had died.

.

My Great Great Grandfather: The First Black Canadian Constable

PETER BUTLER III

Peter Butler III, was a black constable and my great- great- grandfather; and this is his story.

BIOGRAPHY

Peter Butler III was the grandson of a run-a-way slave named Peter Butler I.  Peter Butler I, was born in Baltimore in 1797.  When he was a slave in Baltimore Maryland his last name was Bowzer and when he escaped from slavery and came to Canada he changed his name to Butler.  In 1829, Peter Butler I and his native wife, Salome Squawker moved their young family to Upper Canada.  Peter worked as a caulker in Port Stanley on ships and then moved his family to the Wilberforce Settlement. Peter and Salome raised seven children in the new settlement.   He became the treasurer and also served as the doctor and gave black and white neighbors herbal medicines.  Peter I, was a very smart man, he owned a lot of land in Lucan Ontario. When Peter Butler I died in 1872 at the age of 75, his estate was worth over $22,000. He had a son named, Peter Butler II, who inherited most of his fathers property and his father’s herbal knowledge.  Peter II also gave herbal medicine to his neighbours just like his father did.  Peter II had a son named William Asher Peter Butler III.

 William Asher Peter Butler III (Peter Butler III), was born in Lucan, Ontario in 1859, he weighed about 85 kg and stood 1.8 meters tall.  Peter Butler III was the first and only black constable in Canada. He served for over about 50 years in Lucan Ontario.  He was a tough, but fair, county constable.  He rarely carried a gun; instead he used a big stick and his large fists to keep peace and order.  He would only carry a gun when taking prisoners to the jail cells in London or when he was chasing cattle.  Some of the British immigrants did not like having a black constable at first, but Peter quickly gained their respect. Peter was a member OPP (Ontario Provincial Police) since 1913, and stayed with the force until he retired in 1936.

BEING A CONSTABLE

Peter Butler III, had a large collection of guns in his home.   He had 38 guns that he mostly took from law-breakers, including the notorious Donnelly’s.

He was a kind and generous constable, every Saturday night he bought huge buckets of beer for $ 0.25 and took it to the prisoners. Instead of taking local drunks and other offenders to jail he would often bring them to his home to keep them off the streets for a little while. 

He would always help tramps that came threw town.  Once he picked up an escaped criminal, black tramp, near the railway and after hearing the person’s story, he decided not to turn them over to the authorities, but let them stay on his farm and work for room and board.

          Constable Peter Butler III died in 1943. Many local high ranking people and government from the county and the province, and guest from the U.S.A. attended his funeral. Six OPP officers followed the casket to the historic resting place of the very first Wilberforce Settles at Sauble Hill. A tribute well deserved.

          Peter Butler III was a great man and did many great things in his community, I am very proud to be related to a man of great honor, and a man that did not allow his race, size or prejudice  to stop him from doing what he wanted to do.

Innocence

When I looked up the definition of innocence, I found the following:

in·no·cence

.

1. The state, quality, or virtue of being innocent, as:

a. Freedom from sin, moral wrong, or guilt through lack of knowledge of evil.

b. Guiltlessness of a specific legal crime or offense.

c. Freedom from guile, cunning, or deceit; simplicity or artlessness.

d. Lack of worldliness or sophistication; naiveté.

e. Lack of knowledge or understanding; ignorance.

f. Freedom from harmfulness; inoffensiveness.

2. One that is innocent.

I think of my childhood.

I was born and raised in Montreal Quebec, with 2 sisters; however I hung around my younger sister Kelly because we were close in age, there was only 18 months between us.

We were pretty little girls with big brown eyes, cocoa colored skin and long ringlets pigtails.  Every Sunday, my mother would bring us to the Baptist Church where we attended Sunday school and played in the junior choir, mother  loved to dress my sister and I as if we were twins in matching fluffy pink hooded coats, with pom-poms hanging from the draw strings, white leotards and white paten leather shoes.

If you didn’t know any better; we could pass as poster kids on how children should behave and look. In fact we were able to fool everyone for many years.  It wasn’t hard, we were so tiny and cute, always the favorite.  I was so petite that although I was in grade five, most thought that I was in kindergarten.

Little did everyone know ; we would jump out of bedroom windows late in the night, and terrorized the neighborhood by throwing fruits at windows and garage doors, raid of well maintained gardens and steal clothes of the lines, for no particular reason, just because we could.

One evening, when the gang was sitting in a cherry tree, enjoying the cherries, a bright light flashed in our faces.  It was the women in the neighborhood standing with rollers and hair ties in their heads.  They surprised the hell out of us; we stood there with big eyes like deer looking at incoming traffic, and then flew out of the tree.

When most kids play cowboys and Indians, you’d imagine kids running in the back yard chasing each other with plastic toy guns, cowboy hats and toy bows and arrows, not us.  Our idea of cowboys and Indians was a little more imaginative, more twisted, more true to the idea of capturing the enemy.  We’d take turns tying each other up with the tightest knots with shipping ropes.  Not only did we master the knots but we‘d tie the victim to the swing set in our back yard.  To make things more interesting we would combine cowboys and Indians with hide and seek.  Yes that’s right… we would take turns and tying each other up, leaving the victim alone while the rest of the group and took off and hide all around the block.  Then the unfortunate victim was left helplessly bound to the swing set struggling to undo the triple knots and twisted rope until free from the restrains. 

My sister didn’t mind when it was her turn as she was pretty good at untying the knots, so I would take extra care in making the knots extra hard.  Out of all the kids playing I would tie the knots as if each knot was a matter of survival. 

I would tie her so tight it was if I was in the navy my entire life.  Her little wrist were bound so tightly they were red and swollen.  The pink skipping rope was stretched to the limits, so much so that the color became white.    All that missing was the gag.   I would tie hands tied to the swing, with her feet hog- tied.  Usually the tied child would struggle with the ropes and within a few minutes would be free to go running after the group of friends.  Because I was always looking to be rid of the monkey on my back, my sister.  There were times she would hog tie her behind the garden shed, this way no one knew she was in the yard, and then take off for the rest of the day…

Unfortunately Kelly wasn’t always a victim, she too had her days when she would tie me so tight that my hands were two shades of purple long after everyone had left… pay back was so sweet!  

Where were the adults to prevent this cruel game?  Well that was a good question, I suppose they thought we were all outside happily playing innocently together and out of trouble, and we were for the most part.  We didn’t figure anything bad would happen; we knew it was all in good fun.

Ah the innocent!

One morning, Kelly reminded me that it was mother’s day. Oh crap! What were we going to give the woman that gave life to these little tyrants? It had to be perfect…beautiful. We decided to go out for our afternoon walk, we thought that we would go to the store up the road, with $0.50 in our pocket to pick out a gift, we jumped the fence as usual, and turned left around the corner, there they could see from a distance several people enjoying the morning sunshine sipping coffee or tea.  There were about 4-5 adults, having casual conversation sitting on the front veranda. Just beneath them, were the most colorful, bright long stemmed tulips…just waiting to be cut and placed in a tall vase. As I  got closer, I had an epiphany, without letting my sister  in on my plan I ran as fast as I could, like a bird sweeping down on her pray,  I ran up under the unsuspected bystanders and snatched every single tulip. And I did it with the biggest grin on my face!! Yes!!! My sister finally caught on and began running as she did not want to get caught, nor did t want to be held accountable for my actions.  I ran with Tulips in hand, I could hear the yelling and screaming of angry adults. 

We did this several years straight( cause it was easy and fun), mother  never catching on, for in her eyes, we were pretty little girls with big brown eyes, cocoa colored skin and long ringlets pigtails  that could do no wrong.

Pure Innocence!

 

Your so funny!

So after all the stuff you have put me through you want to be friends?
You lie you cheat and beat me when you drink, and it's supposed to be ok?

Ha! your so funny!

You must think I'm some kind of foul?
That I could get no other or that I even want another?

Ha! your so funny!

I love myself way more than I ever thought I loved you
I was so in love; I practically drank your dirty bath water

Ha! your so funny!

You didn't know what you had, and now you want it back
Sorry baby....that's so funny!