The working poor...literally

I’ve been keeping busy on Nespapers.com lately and started researching the Adoptive family’s side.

I learned a lot. I also learned what I already knew about where I grew up. The whole time I lived in Keremeos I felt trapped and that I would never get out. I was ready to head to Vancouver like so many of my friends and just live on the streets. At the time it didn’t matter if I lived or died I just knew that there was no other way out. I seen so many of the kids leave to go to school, and not long after they left they would return with nothing more than debt. No degree in hand.

When I look back at the predicament I was in it seems like I had more on my plate than I knew back then. Adoption Trauma tells your brain you don’t belong and you need to run...run anywhere...run home, wherever that is. To survive in this world as even a kept person, Keremeos is not where you go. Retirement is all you have. There were very few jobs and as a general rule minimum wage, under the table, drug dealing or bootlegging was the only money you could hope for.

I’m glad I got out. I’m glad I didn’t go the Vancouver route, I lost too many friends that way.