You may have noticed that there has been less updates on my blog lately! Well, have you? Because it’s true!

I have been reflecting on my story and I have come to the conclusion that a change was needed, and so a change was made.

And boy is it ever a big one!

You see, I began my story, Citizen of Ville Joie, using the “Biography-through-Fiction” format, believing that I needed a fictional character to tell my story in order to express what I truly wanted to write about : emotions.

As I was editing my text, however, I realized that I no longer needed that character, or that cane to lean on, in order to achieve the goal of getting the reader to feel what I was feeling during these troubled times in my childhood. I believe it comes out just fine when I tell the story with my own words, as me. So all I need now is a new First chapter to lead into the recounting of the events and I’ll be on the right track! Well, that and finish the editing, and the re-editing, and the re-re-re-editing. And then, re-write and re-edit the first, the second and also the third re-write. And of course make sure there are no “speliing miss steaks”. Then I’ll be done. Maybe.

And here’s the kick…the English and the French versions will come out at the same time. Oh, the joy d’être capable of parler deux languages!

I love you guys and I appreciate your support as always!

Steve

“…As for you, dear listeners and you who joined us for the first time either here at home and around the world, thank you for the kind words you sent to us through different media all night long.

I must admit, I was afraid my story would be heard as a lamentation or come out as an attempt to convince you that my life has been more special or even worse than yours. People sometimes have this propensity to compare stories with others in the hopes that theirs is the saddest. In fact, now that I have shared the events of my early life with you, I find myself mostly lucky to have been able to survive it all. I know that some of the kids who spent time with me at Ville Joie and also a few others who went through similar events in their lives before or after me didn’t have the luck I have had and they are no longer with us to recount their tales, to tell us how confusing and how painful life can sometimes be even if you live in a place called Happy Town.

I guess I can find some pride in knowing that, added to this luck, was the strength I have shown in leading a somewhat normal life in the circumstances, even if it amounts to just doing what had to be done, even if it amounts to nothing more than surviving.

I have learned very early in my life that sometimes, all we need to clear the confusion in our mind or to heal the pain in our heart can find its way to us, wrapped in a short sentence. It’s no coincidence that in this life, one of the many things we should be thankful for is also one of the very few things we know is a certainty. And it’s no coincidence it is also a very short sentence.

It’s a wild world.

We leave you, for now, with this last song from Cat Stevens.”

The great thing after working with someone you trust day in and day out, is that you get to a point where you don’t need to talk to know exactly what someone else is thinking. I knew Susan would keep Wild World as the last song of the show as I suspected she knew it would be appropriately suited for my closing segment. She leaves her booth to come in my studio and proceeds to walk in my direction. I instinctively rise from my chair, stick my phone in my pocket and meet her halfway to give her a big hug as well as thank her for her friendship. Her response is barely audible because the song playing in the background is mixing with the noise outside my booth coming from the crowd that has erupted in applause after the on air light went dark.

As Susan and I look and smile at each other, I can feel my phone vibrate so I reach for it in my pocket to get it out and have a look at it like an old pro.

“Oh good lord,” Susan says.
“You’re gonna get addicted to those aren’t you?”…

Do not reproduce or copy the content of this post as it is the sole property of citizenofvillejoie.com Contact: steve.marchand@rogers.com

This project is entirely written on an iPad.

I do not have representation.

“…I have been trained to wish for love so intensely and for so long, in the end it’s the wishing that contents me and as more time passes, I become less willing to trade that comfort for the uncertainty that often accompanies actual love. I swear the stuff the human spirit can learn to live with.

As a result, I choose to have relationships but never to really be in one, hovering instead on the surface and when things get too deep, when the uncertainty becomes all there is, silence comes to the rescue. Just like silence came to my rescue on the faithful day I was taken from my family and driven to an orphanage in a big white car by a complete stranger wearing a suit.

Love. Love, what else, would be my curse, an inescapable failure throughout the years as a result of the words written for me long ago in the chapter of my life discussing affection and intimacy. Like all children I wished and expected for certain matters of the heart to unfold naturally. I expected love from my mother, instead she disappeared behind a closed door and left me to stand as an orphan by my suitcase. I expected to share a bond with my brothers and my sister, but we became strangers instead. I wished for love from the first family I was sent to, but they broke my bones, tore my skin and planted the seed of shame inside of me. Deep down, I wished for love from or for each of the other families I crossed path with, in return I rejected them or they rejected me.

I wasn’t the victim in all of this. Love, what else, was the victim.

So, what could possibly compel me to tell my story now and in such details after all the years of efforts I deployed to blur its images with a thick veil of silence? Love, what else. Love, and woman. A stunning and brilliant woman who also disappeared behind a closed door in a moment that awoke in me a feeling so old, the dust raised by that gesture made my heart sneeze. A woman who has in her eyes a kindness equal only to that of Danielle’s and who has twice the good looks of “Andrée with two e’s”. She wished for closeness, she received nothing but silence instead. I look forward to beg for her forgiveness while holding a bag of fresh pastries…”

Do not reproduce or copy the content of this post as it is the sole property of citizenofvillejoie.com Contact: steve.marchand@rogers.com

This project is entirely written on an iPad.

I do not have representation.

“…But for now, we return to our story and the conclusion to Citizen of Ville Joie.

I have been told by my parents that I have nothing to worry about, that they will keep me no matter what happens. My long journey into the unknown is now behind me so I can focus on being a kid and ask myself inconsequential questions such as “who do I want to be when I grow up?” instead of big ones like “where will I be tomorrow?”

I’m making a few friends and see them every day at the community centre where we hang out most of the time and I begin playing baseball with some personal success although as a team, we all know we will never amount to anything. Summer goes by fast and I attend the local school where I make a lot of new friends. Our teacher is nothing but kind and patient even though I act like a mentally challenged class clown most of the time.

One day, after school, my mom announces to me that Danielle has lost her long battle with cancer. Hearing this, of course, takes me by surprise and saddens me but I don’t react to the news of her death with as much emotion as one would imagine. It will be a few years later or when I begin revisiting my past through a more mature eye, that I will be able to measure Danielle’s immense impact on my life and appreciate the importance all she did for me. As an orphan, I was lucky enough to benefit from her kindness, from her devotion and I absolutely adored her company but I couldn’t process everything it meant at the time because there were too many things happening around me so fast. I will need a little more living and little more losing before I can learn the true meaning of appreciation.

The afternoon Danielle and I first met, she made the promise to find me a home, knowing how testing it would be even in the best of circumstances. Obviously, she made that promise before she knew she would face this personal and painful challenge. With her own body working against her spirit, she kept a promise she made to a child who wasn’t even hers and she worked until the very end to keep her promise to give me a life, even though she was in the process of losing her own. She lives still in my memories of Happy Town, in the kindness I can see in others thanks to the example of her own and yes, she lives in the regrets I feel whenever I look back on some of the things I wish I could do over. I wish I could see her again, hold her tight in my arms as I know I would and thank her for everything she did for me.

Danielle forever is an angel on my shoulder.

A few years past and my parents who opted to wait until I was old enough for my signature to be legally binding, take me to the local Social Services’ office so I can sign the adoption papers and officially become their son.

I keep going about my life the best I can and experience my teenage years like any other normal teenager you’ve ever known. That’s if there is such a thing and you’ve ever known one. I smoke, I drink and I get caught. I stay, I leave, I live, I fail and I come back. Life is strange that way; maturity has this way of showing up after you mess up which is usually when you don’t need it anymore.

As a young adult I spend years trying to heal the wounds from my past and fight with everything I’ve got to shed a layer of skin stained with the shame and the sadness left by these confusing years. I refuse to succeed at anything, sabotaging countless golden opportunities, believing to my very core that I am not deserving of the happiness that would accompany any accomplishment.

When I finally become an adult, not in birthdays but in actual mental age, I get to discover which of these wounds will never completely heal. Love, what else, as the deepest and the most grueling of them all.

Early on, I make a habit of dating women with whom I know for certain there is no possible future. Women who in return will use my vulnerabilities and hurt me deeply, some of them without even realizing it, others for their own entertainment. I can’t really blame any of them; I drive most of them to do it. This never ending battle that took place inside of me throughout the events of my childhood, this desire for happiness which constantly clashed with my self imposed restrain from enjoying it, stays in me until the quandary itself becomes a biological part of who I am.

I was trained to wish for love so intensely and for so long, in the end it’s the wishing I became comfortable with and as more time passed, I became less willing to trade that comfort for the unavoidable uncertainty that accompanies actual love…”

Do not reproduce or copy the content of this post as it is the sole property of citizenofvillejoie.com Contact: steve.marchand@rogers.com

This project is entirely written on an iPad.

I do not have representation.

“…Also a proof of how much at peace am I now is when my phone vibrates and I calmly reach for it to see who is texting me instead of feeling the need to run for a defibrillator.

It’s Annie. The image of her face is the perfect background for my current state of mind. And her words, her words are like a light at the end of this dark tunnel I entered a few weeks ago.

“I’m at your house,” her message begins. “Stop by our bakery on your way home, will you? I know it’s only Thursday but we owe each other a Sunday.”

In this one message is all ever I wanted to know and I close my eyes to sink it all in before looking down at my phone to type “Thank you” and send it.

Just as I’m about to lean closer to the microphone and ready myself to resume my show, Annie, who can type much faster than I could ever dream of, sends me her response.

“You’re welcome. Don’t forget to thank Lenny too.”

I’ll never deny that I owe Lenny a whole lot but I find it strange that Annie would mention him and remind me to thank him today of all days. I’m about to go back on the air and I have very little time for a lengthy exchange so I just ask “Why Lenny?”

“He and Chuck are old friends,” she answers. “Lenny told me about Linden&Baker and gave Chuck a heads up.”

I didn’t see that coming. I can now see how it was possible for me to trust Chuck so completely and so fast. He’s Lenny. Well, Lenny with a lot more money. I just now realize that in my selfishness, it never occurred to me to ask Annie how it was she came to know that an agency as prestigious as Linden&Baker was looking to expand it’s representation business to Media personalities like me.

Everything seems to be falling in place. Annie is still in my life, Lenny is still in my career and now, the guys from Corporate are giving me the thumbs up. Earlier, I dared think maybe I was going to be fine. Now I know.

“I’ll thank him,” I write to Annie. “Right after I deny you pastries for hiding that from me.”

I would do as she does and add a smily face thing, an “emocon” I think it’s called, to make sure she knows I’m only kidding except I’m too new at this and I have no clue how to do it…”

Do not reproduce or copy the content of this post as it is the sole property of citizenofvillejoie.com Contact: steve.marchand@rogers.com

This project is entirely written on an iPad.

I do not have representation.

“…When I first moved in with my new family, I became Daryl H. but the moment I hear my mother’s words, is the exact moment I become Daryl Heart and a tremendous weight is lifted off of my shoulders. I feel confident enough to make new friends and after a wonderful first summer, with the new school year in full swing, I complete my integration not only with my family but also in the community.

As for that fragrance I couldn’t describe when I had visited my family’s house on the I met with them, the pleasant aroma that intrigued me so much at the time, was the one of comfort. My senses were trying to speak to me and tell me I was home at once. So many emotions in such a short time for such a small heart. My life had been so complicated, the events and emotions so overwhelming that the simplicity of the next few years to come would be a blessing.

One last break and when return, the conclusion to tonights’s story.”

Surprising how something you get to see every day can, given the right circumstances, reveal itself to you in a whole different light, with a whole different meaning. While I was going through these last two segments, I knew, of course, there was a light coming at the end of that dark tunnel I entered at some point in my childhood and as I spoke, I kept staring out one of the windows of my studio which offers a view of the city, a view made breathtaking by the sun slowly climbing above the high rise buildings, strangely following the rhythm of my story as I was tackling it’s final chapters. I have seen the sun rise through that window a few thousand times over the years I sat in that chair but it is today, of all days, that it decided to finally reveal its true beauty. A calming scene that sets the mood to help me finish my show in the right state of mind and better prepare me for the rest of this day which already has a different feel to it compared to my usual routine.

Through another window, the one that gives me a view inside of the station, I can now see that my good friends Sean and Chris from the morning show have joined the crowd of onlookers as have some of the suits who had rushed to Jackson’s office at his request in order to deal with what they saw as the crisis I had caused. They have different look than the one they had on their faces when they first got here. I’m thinking that during that little emergency meeting of theirs, they got a deeper look at the numbers Susan gave Jackson earlier and now, like the small minded accountants they are, they feel happy. One of them confirms it by giving me a thumbs up, accompanied of course by the phoniest of smiles. He doesn’t know, nor does he care, what it took to get those numbers, so long as they’re good. Where’s that good old gag reflex when you need it.

Also confirmed is how at peace I now feel with my situation when my phone vibrates and I calmly, almost instinctively, reach for it to see who is texting me instead of jumping with the look of someone in desperate need of a defibrillator.

It’s Annie. She is still there. Her face is the perfect background image for how I feel right now. And her words, her words are the light at the end of this dark tunnel, the one I entered a few weeks ago.

“I’m…”

Do not reproduce or copy the content of this post as it is the sole property of citizenofvillejoie.com Contact: steve.marchand@rogers.com

This project is entirely written on an iPad.

I do not have representation.

“…While the shock of switching families so abruptly will last awhile, I don’t really have a choice to go on and march through it with my head held as high as possible. And so I get to meet the rest of my family at my new grandparents’ home which is within walking distance from our house.
My new family is a large, young and close knit family. The kind that doesn’t need an excuse to arrange for a get together and have a great time. My grandparents, disarming in their simplicity, are just as warm as their home. They have passed on their kindness and welcoming hearts to their children who are now in the process of passing it on to their own. Setting foot in Papi and Mamie’s house as we call it, is nothing short of a cleansing experience that washes away all that is artificial, all that is untrue from one’s personality, leaving only what matters. If that feeling is the only fortune they leave as their inheritance, when the moment comes, I’ll make sure to lawyer up to get my greedy hands on as much of it as I can.

I am lucky enough to once again have great parents. I have a beautiful home, an extended family as warm and as accepting as anyone could possibly hope for. I know that because during the countless conversations Allan and I whispered between ourselves at the orphanage about what we thought a family should be or what kind of family we wished for each other, none of what we talked about was remotely as good as what I have in my life right now. I am, thanks to my previous experiences, also more aware than ever of what I need to do to make it mine.

But the transfer from one family to another with no time to recover in-between was too brutal, for a lack of a better word, and I am so confused after this change of life, I’m struggling to rise and reach for it.

The regrets I feel whenever I think my recent failure with Gerard and Grace, and I think about it often, added to the shame I have accumulated through my stay with the D family as well as through what I have come to see as my failings with the other families, are pressing hard on my inside. I am now convinced that each time I was given an opportunity to make a family happen for myself so far, it was I who failed to please and convince those who gave that chance. In essence, I am all that remains from my own past and so it is my fault if there is no one left from it and on whom to lay the blame. In a matter of a few days after becoming a member of a sixth family in a period of four years, my ten year old mind has found the answer to “why me?” I have now taken to bringing myself down by calling myself names, with “no good” and “stupid” as the most common ones. In my mind, the only possible answer to “why me” is “because I must deserve it.” Most kids run around all day without wondering about tomorrow but while having dreams of becoming something years down the road, when they grow up. I just want to sit still and I have no dreams for the distant future. As for my tomorrow, I just want to stop being so tired emotionally.

All of this is happening inside of me with no signs of it on the outside, except for the occasional long period of silence. I keep hidden that ugly stuff and I try as hard as I can to be as good and to make myself as likable as possible. I am so conscious of my every move, so afraid of doing something wrong, I sit in the living room of my new home and do as little as possible thinking to myself that if I do nothing, then I can’t do anything wrong.

Despite all I have, and I do have a lot, there is nothing I can see or feel in my immediate surroundings or future to convince me to come out of my shell, to begin to trust the adults around me and start to fully live as a member of the family. I remain in some sort of emotional limbo while doing everything I can to be as quiet as possible and be on the lookout at every turn to stay out of trouble. Something big, something out of the ordinary, is going to have to happen to shake me out of this torpor.

Considering the intensity of the drama that has surrounded me these last four years, thinking of the many life altering changes and the countless moments filled with extreme emotions, it is only fitting that all it takes to convince me to let go of my grip is something as simple as a short sentence. I hear the few words that will change my entire outlook on life one evening during dinner.
I don’t know how this conversation with my parents turned all of a sudden to all of the families I had been with in the previous years, but it did and in the process I must have said something that reveals my fears and prompts my mother to say the magic words as she looks at me in the eyes.

“We’re keeping you, no matter what.”

When I first moved in with my new family, I became Daryl H. but the moment I hear those words, is the exact moment I become Daryl Heart and a tremendous weight is lifted from my shoulders. I feel confident enough to make new friends and after a wonderful first summer, with the new school year in full swing, I complete my integration not only with my family but also in the community.

As for that smell I couldn’t describe when I had first visited my family’s house, the pleasant fragrance that intrigued me at the time, was the one of comfort. My senses were trying to speak to me and tell me I was home at once…”

Do not reproduce or copy the content of this post as it is the sole property of citizenofvillejoie.com Contact: steve.marchand@rogers.com

This project is entirely written on an iPad.

I do not have representation.

“…The transition from one family to another, without the usual time spent in Happy Town in between, turns out to be far from easy. Normally, when things didn’t work out with a family, the orphanage was not only the one place in the world where I could be sent, it was also the one place in the world where I wanted to be. Added to the obvious sense of security I felt there, was the a great opportunity to let go of my life as a member of a family and go back to being an orphan. A period of grace to help me move on from a family and prepare, as well as one possibly could, for the next one.

But in this instance, Gerard and Grace decided to let me go at the same time as this new family expressed their desire to welcome a child. A timing that worked out perfectly for these families, but one that has deprived me of this much needed time for myself and peace only Happy Town can provide.

A few moments after my arrival, my new parents inform me that I will finish the school year at my current school, which is quite a relief, and as a very thoughtful gesture, they also give me the choice to take a few days off and stay home with them so I can adapt to my new surroundings. I don’t know of a kid in the world who would say not to this but I turn down the perfect opportunity to stay home and be lazy instead of going to school because I feel this intense need to spend as much time as possible with my friends, whom I now see as all that remains of the stability I thought was finally mine just a few days ago.

During that same first evening at around seven thirty or eight o’clock, my parents notice I have gone missing and are frantically looking for me everywhere. They even get dressed and go outside by the river to look for me. They are completely freaked out and wonder where in the world I could possibly have disappeared. I don’t know what startles them the most, that I have disappeared without saying a word or that they find me, safe and sound asleep in my bed. We, Citizens of Happy Town, never have to be told when it’s time for bed, we just do it as a natural reflex.

That peace I talked about in the last few hours, the one Ville Joie so generously offered to me, is the peace I wish I could find as open my eyes and wake up this first morning in my new bedroom, in this new home. I need a moment to remember where I am and that Gerard and Grace are no longer my family. I have to remind myself that nothing I will see today will look familiar. Before I even get out of bed, I can feel the weight of the inevitable questions that accompany the first day of a new life and although I know from experience that each question that will arise will find its answer in due time, I am also aware of the what it takes to erase these question marks one at a time. I just can’t believe I have to got through this again. Why me?

On my first Saturday morning as Daryl H., my parents get a fuller glimpse at the kind of child they are dealing with. I wake up before everybody else, sit quietly in the living room and wait for them to wake up and join me. When they do, we all have breakfast together, after which I help with the dishes and then go back to sit in the living room. Every move I make is done quietly and politely until I’m told it’s quite alright to turn on the television and watch cartoons if I want to. At first, everyone thinks the way I’m acting is cute. And why wouldn’t they? Who wouldn’t dream of a ten year old so well behaved. I make my own bed every morning, set the table, wash the dishes and speak only when asked a question. That stuff has been drilled into me at Ville Joie and I don’t even know it isn’t really normal for a kid to do all these things. Some of my new cousins aren’t too thrilled with what I can do since they begin hearing their parents tell them “your cousin Daryl does it, so why can’t you?”…

Do not reproduce or copy the content of this post as it is the sole property of citizenofvillejoie.com Contact: steve.marchand@rogers.com

This project is entirely written on an iPad.

I do not have representation.

Innocence gives the surprising strength to make surroundings irrelevant and as such, children are little Hercules when it comes to finding a reason to smile no matter where they find themselves.

The spontaneous smile in this picture is proof that muscles can come in very small shapes. This truly happy face bearing this heartfelt smile of mine was frozen in time circa 1976. I was all smile as I ate that hot chicken sandwich and felt the kind of happiness only a child can express with no need for words. At that very moment, I couldn’t have cared less where or even who I was.

The joyful smile of a child was all that was needed to light up this scene which took place at the orphanage where I spent a great deal of time as a child.

I was first introduced to irony when I was six years old and I was told upon arriving there that it was named Ville Joie, which means Happy Town. Bless the hearts of those who worked there and made sure the place lived up to its appellation. The smile in this fading picture wasn’t the only one that struck me while I waited for a family to come and take me with them. I assure you, there were more smiles than tears because after each good cry, someone was always there to make it better.

Whenever a family took me with them but decided after a while they didn’t want me after all, Happy Town was the only place in the world I could be sent. It was fine by me because it was also the only place in the world I wanted to be. Added to the safety it offered was a period of grace to help me move on from one family and prepare, as well as one possibly could, for the next one. There would be six families in four years with a return to Happy Town when things didn’t work out, whatever the reason was.

Thanks to the great “educators” who took such good care of us, thanks to my best friend Allen who taught me all there was to know about marbles and thanks my kind social worker named Danielle, there would be many, many more smiles to come after this picture was taken. And one more each time I look at it and remember I was once a Citizen of Ville Joie.

To read excerpts from my story please begin here :

http://citizenofvillejoie.com/2012/05/20/citizen-of-ville-joie-opening-sentences/

This post is in response to the Weekly Writing Challenge by WordPress. Please see here:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/03/04/writing-challenge-truth/

“…As Jackson turns around to walk out of Susan’s booth holding this impressive pile of commendations, she looks at me with satisfaction and gives me this reassuring “I’ve got your back” kind of wink. Jackson’s face was so red when he left, there is probably still a glowing trail in the hallway leading to his office. Or was he simply being choked by the particularly ugly tie he chose to wear for us today. Just this once, I’m going to allow myself to be mean and root for the latter.

Another heartbeat skipped, courtesy of my cell phone. I better get used to this thing vibrating or ringing if for no other reason than to avoid going into cardiac arrest whenever it does. This time, it vibrates to alert me of a text from Chuck, a man nearly fifteen years older than I am and probably ahead of me technologically by an even greater margin.

“Listened to your show all night Daryl. Way to raise your profile and deprive me of sleep! Second pictures were sent last night via courier so get ready for a crazy ride. So proud I’ll be a part of it. So proud of you.”

Just yesterday, these words would have sounded more like a warning instead of the encouragement they are meant to be and surely would have sent me digging deeper in all that stuff inside of me. Only, since I let most of it out last night, there isn’t much left for me to sink my shovel into. Maybe it’s because I’m tired but, instead of the predictable silence, what sneaks up on me this time is a smile of approval. Maybe letting all that stuff out was the right thing to do. Maybe I’ll be fine.

More suits are showing up for work early, most likely called in by an alarmed Jackson. There is no way for them to avoid walking in front of the window of my studio to get to his office and as they rush there one by one, as if they just got off an assembly line, they stare through the glass to pay me phony disapproving looks. It baffles me they would think their looks are supposed to mean something to me. Even more baffling is they still explain my attitude towards them by a problem I may have with authority in general. They should know by now it’s just theirs. I’m quite fine with authority. In fact, I have always believed that authority is nothing less than a byproduct of respect. But respect is not something owed, it has to be earned. They have had nearly three years to do something about that and I’m still waiting. Playing with numbers, which is exactly what they do, makes them accountants, not leaders. Nothing wrong with being an accountant but when was the last time a bookkeeper inspired to the point where people lined up to blindly follow them to the depths of hell. Maybe these accounting prophets hangout on Twitter and that’s why I’ve never heard of them…”

Do not reproduce or copy the content of this post as it is the sole property of citizenofvillejoie.com Contact: steve.marchand@rogers.com

This project is entirely written on an iPad.

I do not have representation.