This information is from John Dunn’s web site
http://www.afterfostercare.ca
Testimonial from a former foster ward.My name is Guy Dufour, and I am 33 years old. I am writing this to share my story, and explain how the Children’s Aide Society has affected my life, in the past, and in the present. I was born in Hearst in 1970, and I lived there for the first five years of my life with my mother and father, and older siblings: Gaetan, Yvan, Daniel, Nicole, and Donald. In November of 1975, an event happened which changed the course of my life forever. I took a car ride with my mother, my brother, Don, my sister, Nicole, and my brother Daniel’s fiancee, Marie. As Marie was driving at 9:00 at night, the car we were riding in hit the back of a slow-moving transport truck that was in the middle of the road in the fog with no lights on. As a result of the accident, my mother and my brother’s fiancee were killed instantly.My sister Nicole was stuck in the car for several hours before the emergency crews could take her out, and she suffered countless broken bones all over her entire body, including her skull. She had severe head trauma and was air-lifted to Sudbury, and she spent the next few months there and had about 10 surgeries just on her head. She was moved back to Hearst and remained in a coma and on life support, and she remains there to this day (27 ½ years) without life support, but in a vegetative state. My brother Don had emergency surgery due to internal bleeding. I survived the accident with a broken leg, however, it was so severe that the doctors in Hearst told my dad that they would have to amputate my leg at the knee. With everything that my dad was going through at that moment (his wife dying, his daughter disfigured and in critical condition, one son having emergency surgery, and another also in the hospital) I am so thankful that my dad kept his wits about him and told the doctors there was no way they would amputate my leg. My dad personally phoned a doctor in Montreal and got a second opinion, and the doctors in Hearst finally agreed to try to fix my leg instead of to just cut it off. So, since Don was recovering from surgery, and I was in traction, we were not even able to go to our mother’s (closed casket) funeral to say goodbye. The next several months were extremely hard on my father. He had just lost his wife, he had to take care of the funeral arrangements, his two youngest sons were in the hospital, another son had just lost his fiancee, and he had to travel back and forth to Sudbury to make medical decisions for his only daughter who was critically injured. With all of this stress and pressure, my dad was getting depressed and starting drinking fairly heavily to try to ease the pain. Despite of this, my father spent the next five years in court to try to get some compensation to give his kids who were in the accident. He spent a large amount of money in lawyer fees, but pursued his lawsuit against the trucking company for whom the truck driver involved in the accident worked for. After five years he decided to settle on a relatively small amount (against his lawyer’s advice because it was worth a large amount of money, but he did not have the money and the time to keep fighting ), the money was divided up and put into three trust accounts for Nicole, Don, and me, to be given to us at the age of 18. My dad went after this money to ensure that we would be taken care of as far as education, and to be financially stable, as well as compensation for what we had lost as a result of the accident. To this day, Nicole’s money is still in the trust account. After almost 28 years, and given her current medical condition (in two more years she will hold a world record for being in a vegetative state without life-support for the longest time), I really feel that she will never benefit from this money. It is not needed to pay for her medical bills, and since she is brain-dead, she will never have a normal life. However, I do believe that, as you will read about, my brother Don and I really could benefit from that money, after what we went through as a result of the accident. Since my mother was killed in this accident, my brother Don and I went back home to live with our father after being discharged from the hospital. There, my father was left alone to care for us, to work, and take care of my sister in the hospital as well. Since he was working, he was going to hire someone to come into our home to help out, because he knew that he could not take care of us on his own. However, someone (my older brother) made a complaint to the Children’s Aide Society that he could not take care of us, so they came and took Don and I into “Protective Custody” without even giving my father a chance to tell them that he was going to hire a “nanny” to help out. After I left my aunt and uncle’s house, I was moved to Mattice, another small town a half-hour away, and was reunited with my brother Don. We were placed in a foster home with the St. Hillaire family, where there were between 15 and 18 foster kids living at any given time. This is where I first started school and made some new friends. I remember several times during my stay there, my dad coming to visit and trying to take me and my brother home with him. These attempts only led to his arrest by the police. After some months in this home, the Children’s Aide Society (C.A.S.) acknowledged that there were far too many children living in a small house, so they came to pick up my brother and me to move us back to Hearst, to another town and another school. Our new home in Hearst was with the Vallieres family. This family was very kind to my bother and I, but they were getting older, and they found it difficult to keep up with us. This was a good home, but unfortunately, we weren’t there for very long. The C.A.S. came to get us and move us again, and this time we were separated. My next home was with the Corbeil family, also in Hearst. They didn’t have any children of their own, and all I remember from that house was that I was slapped in the face many times and yelled at often by the foster “mother”. I’m not sure, but I think that the “father” called the C.A.S. and told them that it would be best if I didn’t live there anymore. So, just as I was getting adapted to my new school and friends, I was picked up and moved again. My next home was back in Mattice with the Deschamps family. Although I didn’t know it at the time, I found out many years later that this family had been waiting for years to adopt two boys. However, they were never told by the C.A.S. that I had a brother in foster care as well. They asked the C.A.S. to adopt me, but were denied because, once again, my father would not consent. I was very happy in this house. I remember them taking me to the lake, going fishing, and having lots of attention and love. About three months later, they told me that they were really looking forward to having two children, and that they were adopting a little boy. When they brought the new baby home, I totally changed. I was frustrated that I had been living there for a few months and I thought that they didn’t even consider adopting me. I started to act out at home and in school, and I didn’t feel special anymore. The family tried to explain to me in detail, that I was still their little boy, that I was still special, that they still loved me. Even after the explanations, I still felt very confused, and I told them that I wanted to be a “single child” in the family, and I didn’t want to live there anymore. Mrs. Deschamps told me that she would never want to make me unhappy, so she phoned the C.A.S. to explain the situation. With no questions asked, no counseling offered, they told her to pack my bags, and they were on the doorstep to pick me up within an hour. Because I was taken away again on such short notice, the C.A.S. placed me back in Hearst with the Vallieres family again, until they found another home for me. Again, I was only there for a short period of time, in a new school again. After that, the C.A.S. had no place to put me or Don, so they approached my father to ask him to take us back. His reaction was pretty normal in my eyes-he told them that they had taken us away from him before, and he would not take us back just to have us yanked away from him as soon as they found someone else to take us. It would not be fair to us, or to him. From there, I was put in a home with the McDonald family, and started in a different school again. The McDonalds had two kids of their own, Cory and Renee, my new “brother and sister”, and we all got along just fine. I went on trips often with this family, and felt like this family was finally the one I could stay with forever. Even though I through the occasional temper tantrum, they still considered me to be and treated me like one of their own kids. In school I did not have bad grades, but I always had comments from the teachers that I was smart, but I was a daydreamer, and couldn’t pay attention. (I wonder why!!) I stayed with the McDonalds for almost a year and then one of my older brothers, Yvan, approached the C.A.S. and told them that he wanted to adopt me. Since my father agreed to the adoption, and my brother wanted to adopt me, the McDonalds felt that the proper thing to do would be to let me be with my real family, even though they wanted to keep me with them. So, I moved to Ignace, Ontario, to live with my big brother and his girlfriend. I really enjoyed being with my brother. I remember he showed me how to water-ski, and taught me the construction trade, and took me snowmobiling. The most important to me, though, was meeting a lot of my relatives for the first time. These several months were the best in my life up to that time. Then, one day, my brother told me that he had decided against adopting me because my being there was causing problems between him and his girlfriend. I was crushed because I knew I would be heading back to the C.A.S. and another family. To this day, I don’t understand why, after my return to Hearst, why I didn’t go back to live with the McDonald family again. I loved being there, and they loved me staying with them, so I don’t know why the C.A.S. never approached them to ask them if they would take me in again. Instead, I was put into another new home, with three new “sisters”, in the Stapleford’s house. I HATED living there. At the beginning, we lived in a small house, and things weren’t that bad, there were just very strict rules in place. The family then bought a bigger house in the country to accommodate more future foster kids. (As you may know, foster parents are compensated financially for taking in kids!) Within a very short period of time, (one to two months after moving) there were more foster kids moving in, living with the Staplefords, and let me tell you, things changed pretty dramatically! There are a few events that took place there that really stand out in my mind. First of all, at the ripe old age of 10, I found out what having a real job meant. For my birthday, I received a bucksaw. I was pretty happy until I found out that it meant I had to cut firewood every day after school for hours at a time. And, if I didn’t, there were punishments. Not like a real job, because I was punched, kicked, slapped, thrown into walls, and had my head bashed repeatedly on the wall. Both foster “parents” delivered these “punishments”. I also remember a violent incident at the kitchen table one night (because I held my fork in the wrong hand) that traumatized me so badly, that I still can’t eat corn to this day! Needless to say, I didn’t like the way I was being treated at this house, so I complained to my C.A.S. social worker and told her what was happening. Her response was disbelief-she thought I just wanted to go to a different house like I had done in the past. It wasn’t until another one of the foster kids was punched in the face so hard that his nose got broken, that the foster dad got scared because there were other kids making complaints to the C.A.S. as well. Before the family was investigated, they phoned the C.A.S. and said they couldn’t keep foster kids anymore. To help speed up the process of getting rid of the kids, the Staplefords referred a friend of theirs to the C.A.S. that was looking to adopt a little boy. It was this place that I was shipped off to next. I don’t know what kind of screening process the C.A.S. had, but all I remember was that I went to live with a single man in his forties, John Barrette (A.K.A. Jean-Marc Barrette), in a Taurus R.V. camper, in somebody else’s front yard, on the outskirts of Hearst. I remember the first day that he picked me up and brought me to the “house”, and I thought that while it was a little weird, it was kind of adventurous-like a camping trip. I guess that the bottom line in my head was that ANYTHING was going to be better than the last place! In the beginning of life with John Barrette, life was great. The people whose property we stayed on had a few three-wheel ATV’s which I was allowed to go on all the time. I also remember having a bear-cub to wrestle with, and that I looked forward to every day. One day, I remember John hooking up the camper and moving to someone else’s yard-this just happened to be at the house that my brother Don was staying at in foster care. Within the first week of moving there, I remember waking up from my sleep in the middle of the night with an erection, and John naked beside me. Still in a sleepy haze, I was wondering what was going on, and why John was giving me oral sex. I was only 10 years old and didn’t have a clue about sex, or anything to do with sex. John explained to me that this was a normal part of growing up, and that I would be rewarded if it was kept as a secret for life. Although I didn’t like what had happened, I trusted the “adult” in the situation, and found out what being “rewarded” meant the very next morning. John took me down to the motorcycle dealership and bought me a brand new MX80 Yamaha dirt bike. The thoughts of the night before were quickly pushed to the back of my head. The bike was dangerous for me because I had never driven one before and it was too big for me, but I LOVED it! Even though the nightly rituals continued and he made me “return the favor”, I loved my bike and it was a great escape for me because I was getting more and more confused. John also taught me how to weld and got me a three-wheeler, and basically anything a kid can dream of. However, things didn’t appear to be quite right to people on the outside, like family and friends (but not to the C.A.S.), and they started to ask John questions, to which he responded that he had seven children not with him and he missed them so much, and that’s why he was so generous with me. Right after that, he must have realized that living in a camper did not help his image, so he moved the camper to Hornepayne, a small town an hour and a half from Hearst, and we moved into a house in Hearst. The camper then became kind of a vacation place for my friends and us. During these “vacations”, John sexually molested one of my friends named Robbie Taylor (who committed suicide at a young age a few years later). Robbie wanted to “experiment” with me too, and I really came to hate all of this and finally decided that the “rewards” were not worth the act. I told John that this was going to stop, and that I wanted to move away from him, or I would reveal my secrets. So, John took the appropriate steps to make sure that the C.A.S. would put me in a good home, and that I would keep his secret. From John’s house I moved to Mattice once again, and lived with the Plamondon family. By this time, I was starting to learn that when things didn’t work out, all you had to do was move away, and start over again. (John visited me there frequently for weeks to come, made friends with my new family, and even brought me my three-wheeler to make sure I kept quiet. I remember my last conversation with him, when he took me for a car ride. He told me that this would be our last time seeing each other unless something was ever revealed about what had happened between us. He made it very clear that I would be hurt if it ever came out. I felt threatened, blackmailed, and scared) In addition to all of the confusion I was already feeling, I now had to adapt to a new school, and a new family with three new kids. I really didn’t take well to this new home. My three-wheeler was my best friend. I didn’t want to spend any time with the family, I just wanted to be alone, and forget about everything that had happened to me with the last two families I stayed with. Those experiences forced me to grow up way too fast and I trusted no one. At the age of 11, I started smoking cigarettes, stealing cigarettes, and developed a “bad attitude”. My school grades went down, and I never paid attention because I was too busy thinking up scenarios and solutions in my head, like “what if this happens next, or what will I do next, and where will I go next”, etc. I had decided that no one was ever going to hurt me again, and no one would ever get close to me. Things were definitely not working at this house, so the C.A.S. moved me to a temporary home with the Gagnon family in Mattice. I stayed there for very short time, and then I was moved to another temporary home in Mattice with the Plamondon family (not the same one as before). A short time later, I was moved to yet another temporary home in Mattice with the Brochu family. I was moved into and out of six more homes before I was placed at the Groleau family farm, south of Hearst. While I was living there, my brother Daniel, whom had often visited me in foster homes and parties, committed suicide in Kelowna. He was one of my closest family members, and once again I did not get to say goodbye to him. Despite this, I was generally happy at the Groleau’s, and I stayed there for four years. Things were still not going well in school, I started smoking marijuana and drinking heavily at 12 years old. I found doing these things were a wonderful escape from reality. Then one day I started to lose my values and all hope to have a decent life, and I attempted suicide with one loaded gun on each side of my head. Fortunately for me, someone found me and stopped me. After this, the Groleau’s had a talk with me and tried to help me. For the work I did on the farm, they put money into an account for me, and when I had enough, I was able to buy a three-wheeler. The Groleau’s also bought me a skidoo to give me a little bit of freedom, and I felt like I could be happy again. For the first time, I was able to experience freedom without having to give anything in return. I was able to stay with the Groleau’s for four years because they were very patient and understanding, because the way that I acted was not the best. I guess this was the reason I eventually left their house, but thanks to them, I learned a lot about machinery and gained a lot of operating experience, which has helped me to this day. At 16 years of age, I was placed into my last foster home with the Laberge family in Hearst. I stayed there a few months until one day I decided to get away from it all. I quit school and moved to Kapuskasing, an hour east of Hearst, and enrolled in a program. The program made it mandatory to go to school, and as long as you did, you could stay in a kind of group-home, which was kind of like a room and board situation. On a side note, all of the residents of the group-home at the time came from the same type of background as me, and since we all related to each other, the drug use only escalated. At this point in time I was doing a lot of cocaine. After a few months of being here, I ended up in the streets of Toronto, where I lived for a few months. I came back to Hearst and lived on the streets because no one wanted to help me, and I was rejected by society. Some of my immediate family wanted to, but were sickened by my self-destructive attitude and my daily drug-use. By this time, I knew that there was only a short period of time left before I was going to get an undetermined amount of money as a settlement from the car accident, to be given to me when I turned 18. While I was waiting, I decided to check out the rest of the country, and I hitchhiked my way to live in Edmonton, Vancouver, and Victoria. The day that I turned 18, I was in Toronto to collect my money, and I spent the next few months living large, and partying with my friends. I moved back to Edmonton and provided a good time for a couple of friends and myself, and when the money was almost out, I moved back to Hearst. Once back here, it was non-stop parties, drinking, and cocaine, until the money was totally gone. There are a lot of things I don’t remember from my childhood, like dates, etc., so I wanted to get things sorted out in my head. For example, I know which houses I stayed in, but not necessarily in what order, or for what length of time, or why I left a particular house. (When you’re a kid, sometimes it may seem like a year, but was in fact only a few months.) So, I decided to visit some of the “good” families that I stayed with so they might be able to answer some of my questions. After visiting a few, I went to the C.A.S. here in Hearst so that I could get all of the answers. When I went there to request my records, the lady there told me “Of course, they’re your records, and you have every right to them”. However, my records were kept in another town about an hour away, and they would have to be shipped here. So I waited, and the next week they came in. When I went back to collect them, I was told that the Director had gone through them and had made the decision that I could see some of the records, such as “how I was taken care of, taken to the doctor and dentist”, etc. I was discouraged, and left it alone for a few weeks. I decided that some records were better than none, so I went back to get the ones they would let me have. Then I was told that I couldn’t have any of the records, and that I would need a court order to have them handed over to a lawyer on my behalf. So, even though I had no money, I sought out a lawyer, and found the cheapest one would charge $2000 just to obtain my records. Of course, I couldn’t afford that, so the records are still at the C.A.S. today. In my search for my records, I came across a web site called Canadian After Foster Care. This site is written by another “former foster-care kid” named John Dunn. As I read his story, it was like reading about my own life. He is my age, and he too was abused, sent to many different homes, and separated from his brother. He also mentioned many behavioral traits, lifestyle, and habits that are consistent with people who have gone through what we have, and he is also fighting the C.A.S. to obtain his personal records as well. After reading his entire web site several times over, I contacted him in by e-mail and by phone because we both believe in the same things and want the C.A.S. system to change. All I know for sure is that, thanks to the C.A.S., I have lived in 21 foster homes; numerous “temporary” foster homes, attended 8 schools, lived in 24 cities in Canada in over 80 homes, and have had over 50 different jobs. When I think about it, there are so many things that could have gone differently. For example, if the C.A.S. had placed me back with the McDonald family after things didn’t work with my brother, I feel my life would have taken a completely different turn. The McDonald’s kids turned out to be teachers with the support of their parents. I feel that because I was so loved in that house (and I liked it there), that the McDonald’s would have given me the support, guidance, and love that I needed to become whatever I wanted to be. I am still in contact with the McDonald’s today, and they still give me all the support they can, so using my own judgement, I know my life could have been a lot different. The McDonald’s are not the only ones who are supporting me in my pursuance of this case. Anyone who knows my story does not understand how I am still alive today, and how I am not in jail. Statistics show that the majority of people who have gone through what I went through lean towards certain behavioral traits. A lot of them continue the cycle of abuse (physical, mental, emotional, sexual), others turn to crime, others turn to drugs and alcohol, and there are those that simply refuse to deal with the scars they have, and they end their lives. Rather than end up to be just another statistic, I have other goals I want to accomplish to help to stop the thousands of cases that are similar or worse than mine. By placing a lawsuit against the C.A.S., I want to raise public awareness on the flaws and wrongdoings made by the C.A.S. and try to stop it from happening to other helpless kids. I also want some sort of compensation for what I have gone through, and a chance to start over and make things right in my life. Instead of looking at things negatively with self-pity, I choose to appreciate all of the experience I have gained in my life, to know that I could make a solid life and career for myself if I was given the chance. Right now, my fate is in God’s hands, but I don’t expect him to come knocking at my door and take away all my problems. I have so much potential in life, but yet I have the potential of nothing with the situation I’m in. At the age of 34 years, I finally realize what went wrong in everything I’ve ever tried. Because of my past I always ended up trusting in the wrong people. I always taught myself not to trust the “good” people because they will abuse you in any way they can. The other side? Well, I always had a friend to lie, cheat, steal, scam, and get high with. It seemed like these people always understood, and there were always there when you needed them. Now I know that I was living my life the wrong way, and choosing the wrong path. All of the businesses I have tried (that would of been successful) have failed because of lies, and scam artists that I thought I could trust. I wrote this story with the hopes that whoever reads it would take on a different outlook on life. Since I don’t know what the future holds for me, I really hope that I can make a difference in some way. |
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