My Uncle Peter,

One thing about my Uncle Peter is that he loved his momma. This picture confirms it. Look at those faces. Whole. Complete. Knowing them both, I just see it in their faces. They were full of love.

I am not really sure that I should be posting family photographs the way I am, matched to these words, but I was thinking of this photo lately. I am thinking lots of things that I do not even know how to write. My Uncle Peter only had the best of intents for me. I was so lucky. I have always known that. I was always aware that I was lucky for where I come from. In my opinion, more so than the others. However, as of late I keep looking back and I don't even just how lucky I really was. I came from great family that loved us all.

My Uncle Peter and my Baba. I believe I remember this night. This likely would have been January, 1980 or so. Uncle Steve's basement. I loved that basement. It was so fun. You could run around in a large circle through all the rooms. If you were devious, you could outwit someone pursuing you around the circle by cutting through the long furnace room. This was different from our house and as a kid I really liked it. I thought it was so neat. At home you could run around in a circle through the rooms, or you could run in a figure eight. Important things for little kids.

About this time, about the year of this photograph, I remember Uncle Peter at the first Cloverdale shop. He picked me up and threw me into the air "Wee". That was so much fun. I still remember that. He was so excited. A boy. A son. He himself had had girls, so... I think he looked to me as someone he never had. Hence my father years later hinting I could leave the problems here and go live with Uncle Peter. That I could be his Son and have a good life. Uncle Peter wanted a Son. I cannot imagine how different things would be if I had done that.

I do not think my mother would be in this house today if that was the case. I think it would have been disastrous for this household, but it would have been so much different for me. I would not have been crippled by so many issues, and regardless of what anyone thinks of me, or what I say on this site, I was absolutely crippled for most of my life. I was held down, undermined, cheated, bullied, abused. Not outright in manners that you would see looking at me, but by mental means. Psychological Abuse. It's not my fault I was told just over twenty years ago by an employer.

At this point, I am realising that it really is not my fault, but even at that I don't want to hurt the person primarily responsible. He has fed off my existence for forty plus years. I cannot control his actions. I can control how I respond to them, but at this point it is too little too late. It's not really even his fault in way. It's just life. The way the cards come up. The Natural Order of things. One seemingly insignificant decision here, or one minor decision there, and the consequences are life long. I remember understanding that from a very young age.

Anyways, there is much I wanted to say to this post and I don't know if I will get there. Too many things to cover. Uncle Peter throwing me in the air, rubbing my face into his whiskers. Riding my bicycle to his house to cut his grass. Taking a friend and painting his house. Working for him in his shop that quite frankly I was lucky to have known. Who gets to grow up like we did? A heavy duty fabrication shop with a license to build vehicles for the road? It wasn't General Motors, but it was still pretty cool. A dangerous, dirty place full of hard work, but it was cool.

Same with the split from that company. The heavy duty truck repair, sales and salvage. That was actually really cool. I got to climb through all kinds of big vehicles and pretend I was driving them as a kid. If I had half the issues and twice the brains, I could have taken advantage of those shops and made my own products. There was bounds of opportunity for the right person. Even just hobby-wise here at home, there's so many things I have wanted to do. Looking back, I could have went to the shop, been given this and given that, then built what I wanted.

I just had it so good. I have always known that. Dad made sure that I knew that. He was right. Who gets to travel around with their dad all Summer? I used to do that. Across the country, down South, we went all over the place. I wouldn't trade that for anything. Same with the Shops. No one wanted them. No one wanted to work there, but I am fortunate that they were there. I fortunate to have experienced what others are just oblivious to. I have felt I was lucky in these manners, but looking back now... I see that I was extremely lucky.

It didn't matter about the money. It was the care. The opportunity. Bonds that are irreplaceable.

Uncle Peter knew about my problems in this house. I wasn't of the belief that his opinion was the right opinion. If he was right about his take on the matter, then my whole being would not resist it. The same with Uncle Ike. I wrote him down as someone the police could talk to, but he's the wrong guy. It's not that he doesn't care, it's just that he doesn't care. Besides, his hands are full with so many other issues. The one who knows the answer is Father. And he's not here. I am the next best thing. He already told me the proper answer anyways: "Make sure you.... ".

Back to Uncle Peter. He probably gave me the best advice in life. Thinking about that now. He would have been fun. He would have been fun if I did move into his house at thirteen years old. He just had a manner about certain things in life. He wasn't as shy, or as reserved as my father about certain topics. He was a little more loose and comfortable about talking about girls. "Go find yourself a Ukrainian Girl" he always told me. "She will look after you". Not like these single mother's I see all over the dating sites here. His words always stuck with me.

Ukrainian Girls

Writing my Ukrainian friend yesterday, she tells me that my family is crazy. She doesn't understand it. She doesn't understand how everything could have went this way. This naturally makes me feel like I have confirmation over how wrong my words were in my last post. I don't want to blame anyone. I don't want to fight. Dad always said: "You are a better man not to fight". I think what it really is, is that I do not want anyone to hurt. I sense there is a lot of hurt. I can feel it within me. Maybe I am wrong, but I am feeling that others are hurt.

Maybe it's my mother that hurts? Maybe it's my brother? Maybe it's my sister? Maybe I am just wrong, and I am projecting what I feel onto other entities? All I know is that I feel a world of hurt. It's not just the physical pain that I write about in terms of coming home sore from work. It is emotional pain. Heart pain. Mental pain. Psychiatric pain. Which just reminds of how messed up this "System" is. The "Psychiatrists" could help me, but 'they don't want to'. There's no personal profit in actually fixing people and situations I guess.

Which is the whole problem with this "System". It is entirely corrupt. I believe that I was writing about trying to determine who the Criminal is, in regards to Lori Ashton and the Crown Office. Do you know what the Truth of the matter is? They are all Criminals. The Doctors. The Police. The Lawyers. The Prosecutors. The Judges. The Bail and Probation Offices. The Jailers and the Corrections Staff. All of them. They are all Profiteers who really have no interest in ending the endless supply of innocent dummies that keep them employed. They are all Crooks.

I could point my finger at every single entity and claim wrong doing. I could. Countless times too.

However, that is not my focus here. My focus here is the root of this problem. Where it all begins. I could be looking in the mirror, but I have spent a great deal of my life looking there. I really have. Rather, I think there are a couple of other individuals who made their mistakes. My sister, and more primarily my oldest brother. If I wasn't so typed out at this point, I would get to the point of this post. I would get to the root of the issue. It's not really my issue, but it is someone else's that I have continually paid the tab for all of my life.

Incidentally, my Baba here in this photograph... her fear was my result. That the older brother's would not look after the youngest, who was my dad. To that, I think there was mixed results. Uncle Peter is the one who kept him alive in the end. He is the one took the mortgage of this house. We owe him as much was owe our own father. However, the point is Baba was right in her fears. That's why she had them. She feared for her youngest Son. I incidentally am her youngest Grandson. I wish I could see her again too.

In any event, this is the real me. This definition below defines me and who I really am.

Ultimogeniture is an order of succession where the subject is succeeded by the youngest son (or youngest child). This serves the circumstances where the youngest is “keeping the hearth”, taking care of the parents and continuing at home, whereas elder children have had time to succeed “out in the world” and provide for themselves.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ultimogeniture

Everyone has failed me; Family, the Doctors, the Police, the Courts. However in mentioning the Courts, I have this feeling that they can do whatever they want to do. They can do a complete 180 degree turn and act as if everything was totally normal, as is their change of direction. That everything was in the Right from day one. That all their math works. As long as they want it too anyways. That's the Court System. Whatever they want. Unfortunately, for the most part I think that at times is simply government jobs and stability for themselves, the Staff.