March 8th 1988

In our lives we have many births and many deaths. I am a collector of those moments in my life. I grip them dearly to use as touch stones to map out my life. Holding on to the shards of myself even though they make me bleed. 

On March 8th, 1988 I died and was born… yet again.

The Soundtrack of the Day

If my radio was on, you would have likely heard Rick Astley’s Never Gonna Give You Up—a song that, decades later, would find an unexpected second life as an internet meme. Michael Jackson’s Man in the Mirror was climbing the charts, and George Michael’s Father Figure was on repeat. Sweet Child o’ Mine by Guns N’ Roses and Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard were guaranteed to make an appearance. 

Evening TV and MuchMusic Marathons

After dinner the night before, I was probably flipping through the channels. Degrassi Junior High was giving me, as a Canadian teen, a dose of real-life drama, while Street Legal brought courtroom intrigue. The Beachcombers was still a beloved staple, though it was nearing the end of its long run. Across the border, American hits like The Cosby Show and Growing Pains were also part of my must-watch lineup. Meanwhile, I was getting into music videos, glued to MuchMusic, Canada’s answer to MTV, where the latest pop and rock videos dominated the screen.

News Making Headlines

Because my parents took great pains to make us politically engaged, I was also aware that beyond the everyday, the country was in the midst of change. Prime Minister Brian Mulroney’s government was negotiating the Canada-U.S. Free Trade Agreement, sparking debates about the future of the economy. Meanwhile, the recent Supreme Court decision in R. v. Morgentaler had struck down Canada’s abortion law, igniting discussions about reproductive rights across the country. There was also a growing conversation about environmental conservation, as concerns about acid rain and pollution became more urgent.

The Look of the Times

At 13, I coveted the acid-wash jeans, oversized blazers, and shoulder pads that dominated the streets. Hair was big—whether it was a perm, a mullet, or a teased-up masterpiece—but I could never quite get my greasy, flat hair to rise to the occasion. Makeup trends leaned toward blue eyeshadow, bright pink lipstick, and heavy blush—things I secretly dreamed about being allowed to wear.

A Day That Changed Everything

The winter chill would have still lingered in the salty air. Snowbanks lined the streets and cool kids bundled up in neon jackets, trudging to school with Trapper Keepers in hand. I set out into the world that day from my father’s home, heading toward the scene of the crime—my junior high school. I had not mentioned to either my father or my evil stepmother the terror I was feeling, having been hauled into the office the previous day after going feral on a girl twice my size who had made a dig about my greasy hair. I knew something was really wrong because, even though it had taken four adults to remove and restrain me, I wasn’t in trouble. I had been sent home at the end of the day with the other students, told that we would "talk about it tomorrow".

Trudging there that morning, I must have been so scared.

At some point in the day, I was called to the guidance office, where I was introduced to a pair of social workers. My heart sank. The last time this had happened, I had worn the proof of my treachery on my flesh for weeks. I was truly unsure if I could survive a second round of treason.

But I was so fucking tired. When they asked me a point-blank question, I didn’t have the guile to deflect. The truth poured out of me in a torrent. I don’t remember if it was in a stony, dissociated monotone or in great, gasping sobs, but I know that my will to live had taken control.

I never went back to my father’s house. Not that day, nor in any of the 13,514 days that have followed. That night, I went to bed in my first group home. I was so scared—of the strange surroundings, of the staff, of the other girls—but above all else, I was afraid that my father would come to the door and demand to take me home.

That day, March 8, 1988, I died and was born yet again.