Adpoted at Age four tracks the life of a four year old that had been shunted around foster homes for the first four years of his life. In and out of the orphanage everytime returning in poorer health. He is finally adopted by a childless couple, although poor by most standards who became loving parents with great values and standards that set his life in the right direction. From there it traces his acceptance and rejection by certain members of his newly acquired extended family and his development through elementary school, high school and ultimately into the job market with all the twists and turns along the way. Searching for his original identity at birth culminates in a brick wall ending . . . to be resolved much later in life. He eventually is recruited into the Banking Industry as a Management Trainee and has many interesting experiences in the Consumer Loans Department of many local Branches. Because of his past experience as a Collector he at one time becomes the Bank's roving collection /repo person and some of the situations he relives are both entertaining and worth a chuckle.
Adopted at Age Four
By Brian L. CoventryAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2010 Brian L. Coventry
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4520-3614-4 Chapter One
"Little Leslie, the early years ..."
My first remembrances of the orphanage was a very large room with many beds and lots of kids my age in individual beds in a dormitory. The orphanage was located at the corner of Rideau Street and Charlotte in downtown Ottawa. It was operated by the "Children's Aid Society of Ottawa-Hull".
I was a ward of this Agency being given up by my birth mother the day I was born. I had been in foster homes now for 4 years. Nowadays I have no remembrance of those foster homes except that I always ended up back at the residence at Rideau Street and Charlotte, usually in worst condition then when I left.
Back then between 1945 and 1949 there was no welfare it was postwar Canada and foster homes were a source of revenue akin to welfare. Many took in the children accepted the cheques and did the least for these wards.
I was a typical example of this. By the time the Swartmanns came for their first pre-adoption visit I was a wreck. I was underweight for my age, was anemic due to very poor nutrition and wasn't the greatest candidate for adoption at age four.
I still remember sitting on the floor in an interview room and I was playing with some trucks and toys they had given me to distract me from the social worker/prospective adoptive parents conversation which I probably wouldn't have understood in any event.
At the time I didn't realize it but I was the ideal candidate for adoption. Jean Swartmann had had three successive miscarriages and her Doctors explained she was unable to bear children. On top of this problem she was told that her husband's Frank's mother Mrs. Edwina Swartmann was in ill health and looking for one of the family to take her in on a permanent basis.
Mrs. Edwina Swartmann was an old hateful mother-in-law that had given her daughter-in-law Jean a hard time from day one. She had a vile tongue and a mean temper all her life.
So with this in mind and realizing she was barren, the decision to adopt was a simple choice. Put a kid in the upstairs bedroom, no room for Mother-in-law.
Not shortly after I arrived at the Swartmann household as a permanent member, subject to the usual probationary period. This came and went with no hiccups, papers signed, court appearances resolved, name changed legally to Leslie Gerald Swartmann from my original name of Brian Leslie Wallace at birth.
* * *
From thereon I remember my life clearly.
I used to "act up" because I guess I thought these people would be no better than the ugly foster homes I'd been in before. I guess I thought it's just a matter of time I'd be sent back to the orphanage anyway.
One time I decided to freak them out and I hid in the well of their desk and pulled the chair in so they couldn't find me. I thought I was being smart or cunning but both my then new Mom and Dad freaked out. They ran through the house searching for me, culled the apartment building we lived in, even called the police.
At some point Children's Aid and the Ottawa City Police were informed there was a problem and arrived on the scene. I guess at this point I figured the "jig was up" and I exited my hiding place. The cops weren't too impressed, the Children's Aid worker wasn't too impressed but my new Mom and Dad all they could do was hug me and my Mom Jeanne cried, my Dad Frank smiled and they both told me they loved me and don't ever do that to them again.
It was then I realized I was anchored, not going back to the orphanage and I settled down and started to enjoy my new life. My new Mom figured out I must be enjoying my new home as pretty soon I started to hum and sing around the house. She and my father encouraged my singing and I used to go around our neighbourhood singing for the neighbours. A very popular song of the day was "There's a Bluebird on my window sill". I memorized this song and would sing it to our neighbours with the result that I would receive a candy or a penny or nickel for my efforts. These then were my first "paid" performances.
Although I was settled in I was still pretty rambunctious and I was testing the Swartmann's patience to the limits. I got myself in to trouble of some kind or another on a regular basis. The terrible two's were replaced by the terrible four's. My new mother was trying hard to be patient but every now and then she'd scold me and end up with her famous words; "Just wait till your Daddy comes home, he'll straighten you out!"
I don't think my father was all that keen on the role my mother had assigned him as disciplinarian but he would deal out my spankings on the bum with such gems as "Spare the rod and spoil the child!" or the best one of all was: "This hurts me a lot more than it hurts you".
When I still acted up in spite of the spankings, he then decided I needed something more attention getting. His friend Mitch Kowalski was the Superintendent in one of the other buildings, a retired military cop and a huge 6 foot 2 inch man. He gave my father one of his old police belts. No longer was it the bare hand spanking the bare ass. It was this huge police belt doubled over and wacked on my buttocks right through my pants.
When he said: This hurts me more than it hurts you!" I'd say: "I don't think so, Poppa!"
My behaviour improved somewhat after that but never enough to warrant a pat on the back.
* * *
Looking back now, I think I must have been still in Diapers when I arrived at my new home. They say boys are harder to potty train than girls and I was no exception. My late introduction to the toilet was probably due to the total lack of interest in my development during my many brief assignments to Foster care.
My Dad was assigned that duty by my Mom. He would take me upstairs to the bathroom whenever I decided that the time was fast approaching. He would sit me on the toilet seat and tell me this story that I was a WW2 B52 bomber flying into enemy territory from England. When I was ready I should shout the words: "BOMBS AWAY!!"
This proved to be a very effective learning tool as I was always prepared to bomb Hitler and the Nazi's with all I had in the Bombay!
I learned early in life, that stealing wasn't a good thing. One day my Mom and I were up in the boss's big house and I wandered off into a spare bedroom. I was looking in the drawers besides the bed and saw a small battery operated pen-light. I decided this should be mine and stuffed in my pocket. A few day's later my father's boss noticed it was missing. One and one equaled two and they found the penlight in my dresser under some clothes. Did I get a tuning up for that one. Belt and all.
I finally learned my lesson one day after school. I still thought I could pull theft off (Age 5) and I was in a store that was then at the Intersection of Wellington and Albert Street. Where these streets intersected was a triangle and the store was actually constructed as a Triangular building. It was a convenience store. I went in to buy a bubble gum and thought the owner wasn't looking as I headed for the door. I grabbed a Banana off the fruit section and stuffed it into my shirt. The owner said: "Just one minute, young man, I saw that!"
He then said:" "Don't move young lad you're in big trouble." I froze. Then he placed a call to the Ottawa City Police...
