The Ramblings and Correlations of an Intergenerational Mind

By Billie G

I grew up in Vancouver where I’ve run the gamut of alcoholism, addiction, dysfunction, and every other intergenerational effect around. I am a Heiltsuk, born in Bella Bella, BC. My name is Billie, and I am known on a popular social media site and from my childhood as Billie G. I am the sixth daughter of a handsome carver/fisherman and a beautiful mom who worked in the cannery in Namu, BC. I am a proud mom of four beautiful sons, Martin, Gregory, Miguel and Jamie. I am a grandmother, an aunt, a daughter and a niece, sister, cousin and friend.

I had absolutely no idea why my people and I are so broken. I had no idea what intergenerational effects were until I went to college and then university. Before I had the privilege of earning an education, I had no idea why I’d led a life stagnant and laden with dysfunction or why I could not just ‘be healthy.’ I did not understand why I had to take the long rough and tough way around towards healing.

I have since earned a Bachelor of Social Work degree from an indigenous perspective and I have learned a lot about me and my life and how I’ve been affected by intergenerational effects.I understand now why I am so stigmatized. I understand now who I am and where I come from. I have recognized not a lot of people, indigenous or otherwise, are unaware of what intergenerational effects are. I have correlated some effects with my life in hopes of giving more clarity in how they affect me and my people. These are my views, this is my understanding, and this is my life. These are The Ramblings and Correlations of an Intergenerational Mind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: May 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9781645752097

Billie G

This is Billie G’s first book, it began as an essay of sorts for catharsis. Billie G is still residing in Vancouver, BC. She spends most of her time with her little family. She maintains a job working with her people that she loves. Although her job can get heavy, she lives by her golden rule which is: “You’re allowed five minutes to be emotional, then you gotta be gangster”.

Book preview

About the Author

This is Billie G’s first book, it began as an essay of sorts for catharsis.

Billie G is still residing in Vancouver, BC. She spends most of her time with her little family. She maintains a job working with her people that she loves. Although her job can get heavy, she lives by her golden rule which is: You’re allowed five minutes to be emotional, then you gotta be gangster.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the survivors of Residential School and the young souls that did not make it home. If it wasn’t for your strength, courage, and determination; we would not be the Indians they could not get rid of. Thank you for my life.

This book is also dedicated to my sons: Martin Ranville, Gregory Ranville, Miguel Turcios, and Jamie Gladstone.

Copyright Information ©

Billie G 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person, who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication, may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

All of the events in this memoir are true to the best of author’s memory. The views expressed in this memoir are solely those of the author.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

G, Billie

The Ramblings and Correlations of an Intergenerational Mind

ISBN 9781645752073 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781645752080 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781645752097 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021916691

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Acknowledgment

Many thanks to Kristina Buck and Bodil Jumbo for standing by me through thick and thin. I will always be grateful for you both for being in my life. Dr. Sandy Witherspoon for being who you are and your amazing support that you always gave me. I miss you to this day.

Although I see you out in community and I cannot say it to you in person, I would like to say here that I am sorry for missing out on raising our granddaughter, Kiara. I am sorry that I failed her and I failed you.

I would like to apologize to Calvin Thomson and Diana Pascal, Elsie and above all I apologize to Kiara. I have no excuse, I realize that it is very late in the day, I don’t expect forgiveness. I am acknowledging my grave mistake in not being part of raising Kiara or being in her life, for that I am beyond sorry.

Chapter One

Enmeshed

Have you ever heard the saying that ‘we agreed to this journey before we were born?’ This life right now and everything it’s entailed up to this very moment where you’re reading these very words? Well, I must have been some kind of fool to agree to this shit or very, very desperate to be born! So, here I am, a fifty-two-year-old woman who has been to hell and back several times and shit hasn’t let up. How does one survive all of this? Why would I agree to this? Where am I? Well, I am homeless. May 28th, it will be one year of couch surfing and staying at other people’s houses. If it weren’t for my thirteen-year-old son who holds me together and who is living with a friend, I believe I would certainly not be here right now. My son has been staying at my friends, she’s been amazing by welcoming him to sleep there. All the while I struggle to maintain a relationship with a man that I met on an online dating site and where I sometimes reside with him in his brother’s basement. And the whole time I am waiting desperately for a place to live with Subsidized Housing. We had to separate due to someone reporting us living at my friend’s place; this is the first time in my baby’s life we’ve lived apart and that hurts my heart on a daily basis. I have lots of family and friends for who I am more than grateful for and could not have possibly survived up until this point in my life without their generosity and kind hearts. Please, do not misunderstand me, I love the man I met on a social media dating site, we have been very rocky lately is all. We began dating last June and have been living off and on together for approximately nine months. It’s difficult to go from having adventures and tons of fun on the weekends to all of the sudden seeing someone mostly on a daily basis. And learning his habits and him, mine; learning to live with someone is already challenging enough. In truth, Dallas has been amazing to take me in and support me the way he has. I would be living out of my truck if he hadn’t; therefore, I am super grateful. I also make a decent wage from my job. I earned a Bachelor of Social Work Degree, so I could live a better quality of life and provide well for my baby boy. Isn’t that quite the delusional promise society gives us? Become a better person, earn an education, be an upstanding, contributing member of society! Assimilate and bow down to our God and you’ll get your reward in Heaven. At this point in time, my belief in any higher power is wavering, however, I still pray when I’m feeling lost and grateful like anyone else. I used to practice smudging and pray to Creator during my college and university years, I had adopted that belief and it served me well at the time. I’m done with any higher power at this moment in time. Yes, one would be right in guessing I’m becoming angry and disheartened. I’ve lived a life enmeshed with intergenerational effects, welfare dependency, abusive relationships of all forms, addictions, alcoholism, I’ve lost every life partner and this is my fifth serious relationship. I’ve survived child poverty and neglect, my teen years, my young adult years, and Rez life briefly as well, the mean streets of East Van as a young girl and the meaner streets of the DTES as a young woman.

How did I arrive in East Van when I was born in a small remote fishing village along the West Coast? My dad would not stop beating on my mom. I am the sixth daughter of an artist and fisherman and a beautiful mom who had issues of her own. I am a third-generation residential school survivor, which means I attended Day School on the Rez, four of my older sisters attended residential school after my grandparents and parents attended. I am Billie, I am Heiltsuk, and I come from the house of Maggie and Brodie who were my maternal grandparents. My parents are Vicky and Gordon. I am blessed enough they are both still living. I have twin boys (who are grown men now), another son I lost at the age of four (his paternal side came to BC and brought him across the US border where he was raised), a girl I gave life to and whom I lost at birth to MCFD (due to a severe cocaine addiction). Then there’s my baby boy (who had never witnessed his mom drink alcohol until he was eleven). I have six sisters and I struggle to maintain a relationship with the only one who communicates with me. I have two granddaughters and one grandson and have not had any visits with any one of them in a very long time, my last granddaughter? I haven’t even met, which has shattered my heart into a million pieces time and time again. These, my friend, are what we mean by intergenerational effects. The last paragraph has tons of them. The fact that my sisters and I don’t speak along with the physical abuse my mother endured; and of course, being a grandmother myself and not being able to see my grandchildren to name a few. How does one deal with all that shit? I mean, it’s got to hurt right? As an indigenous woman who has fought to survive with everything she has for all her life, how do I keep moving forward? Let me fill you in as to where I’ve come from and possibly we can both come to a conclusion as to how I survived all that crap. Or perhaps you just might find some inspiration and take a lesson or more from my rocky road, the best being you will gain an understanding of what intergenerational effects are.

Chapter Two

Seven Sisters

As mentioned, I am Heiltsuk and was born in Bella Bella in the fall of 1962. During that era, we had a nightly curfew and all the kids had to go indoors at 8:00, our electricity and lights went off at 12:00 nightly, there were no phones or TVs and I believe we had indoor plumbing, but not hot running water. My first memory is being in the crib with the lights out, well, more of a playpen than anything but aware that my parents were on their bed and my sisters on theirs. It was a very small, two room beach-house with a kitchen and a bedroom with a bathroom in between. I recall feeling safe and it was early in the morning, like 4:00 a.m., kind of early. I remember waking up and hearing my parents whispering and knowing that all was well in my cloth diapered world. It felt so safe, I can actually recall going back to sleep. Maybe, in retrospect, that memory stays with me because I don’t have many memories of feeling that safe or content as a small child at all after that particular one. My next memory is at my grandparents’ place upstairs and preparing for bed with Mom. Not questioning why we weren’t with my dad, it was just normal for us to just be at my grandparents at times and not at Dad’s. Mom was reading those magazines they had twenty million years ago called ‘True Confessions.’ I remember just feeling happy because I actually got to sleep with her that night. I had to be a toddler at that time. I just remember feeling all cozy there in the double bed with a kerosene lamp lighting the room, so Mom could read her magazine. My next memory is when we were bathing and again, my sisters were at home because it was summer time. (During the Christmas holidays, they had to return at times from Port Hardy to the residential school they attended in Port Alberni due to weather conditions). I can’t imagine what it was like to support seven girls back in the day or nowadays. It had to be tough and what did that look like? Due to the four oldest girls attending residential school, most of my memories come from when they were home for summer. What was it like feeding such a clan? What strategy did Mom and Nanny use when it was bath day for seven girls and there was no hot running water? Well, the large, round aluminum tub was filled after heating up gallons of water on the wood stove and we went oldest to youngest and being sixth in line, well, imagine what that bath water was like! I do recall they had to change the water, so highly time consuming. One of the stories I was told when we were all younger, it was said that one of my sisters who had bathed already at the time was found walking naked towards the wharf. The thing she found embarrassing was the long hair on her back, it was one lone long hair that she was teased relentlessly about. Naturally, she wasn’t happy when that story was told; however, it’s a funny memory for us. There’s also the time, I believe, it was Toni who cut off every single one of Minnie’s curls! That is funny, poor Minnie, she was so cute! I have memories of us three girls left behind due to being too young to attend residential school and racing down in the cold of winter to get dressed for school. Our clothes were warm due to Baba hanging them on the metal drying rack they kept behind the wood stove in the living room. The wood stove was located in the living room to the left of the living room door from the hallway and also from upstairs. Baba had his own skills, he welded a steel rack that looked like a room divider for such occasions. When our clothes were wet or during the winter, we hung them to dry. Obviously and in retrospect he made it for Nanny when she needed a place to dry something quickly. Upstairs he had made some crazy cool hanging drying racks for her laundry. They ran parallel from the top of the stairs to Nanny and Baba’s bedroom, there were two of them and at least six feet in length and a few feet wide each. The wooden lines he created were a few inches apart on each drying rack, and they were long enough for drying blankets. My Baba was not without his gifts.

Chapter Three

Nanny and Child Billie

I remember Nanny’s kitchen because it was nice and clean, always. It was a pretty bright yellow and there were very well made curtains on the windows that she had made herself. Her kitchen had windows all along one wall and a large window above the sink. Across the front road were our neighbors, below them, the beach and where Baba’s smoke house was. Nanny kept her house immaculate. Baba had built that house himself and she made the house a home. I always appreciated Nanny’s gifts; she could sew and cook very well. She was respected in the community and she used to have her own little store in their house to help make ends meet. Also, that woman knew how to feed a large family on basically nothing because eventually the store she kept stopped being a source of extra income. The thing is Nanny just didn’t appreciate me. I have no idea why or what I done, I was a little girl whose mom had left town and left me in her care. Now, out of respect for her, because she’s been gone a long time, I just want to say that she was our first residential school generation survivor. She learned some behavior that had become acceptable and it was driven into her. However, Nanny, she just didn’t like me and I was confused and hurt at first. Then I just accepted that this was my life until my mom found a place in Vancouver and I could be with her. Now, how do I know she didn’t like me? Possibly it was the way she spoke to me, the tone in her voice, it was different than when she spoke with my younger sister. When she brushed my hair in the morning and maybe pulled a little too hard could have been a clue or when she would give me that look, the look that could freeze ice trays in a minute flat. Maybe it was the fact that I didn’t like fish and refused to eat it? I knew when I arrived home after a long day of school, chores, and playing outdoors that having the rice and veggies wasn’t an option. It was straight to bed if we were having fish. Maybe those were viable reasons to dislike me? I just lived with it. Now, I don’t remember the exact time frame we were left with our grandparents, I do know that it felt like an eternity to Child Billie. One of the most detrimental intergenerational effects that was driven into the children who were forced to attend residential school was disassociation; dissociation from their brothers and sisters at residential school and their family back home. One was beaten if they were caught with a sibling as well as there was no affection given or received in a healthy manner. How was a child, who aged out of residential school, left and had their own family supposed to show their families and children affection if they had never been shown affection, therefore could not show any? How could they express love when all they’ve been taught was how to cook, clean, and work in a strict, abusive, and loveless environment? How were survivors expected to express love for their offspring and to nurture them in a healthy manner when they were taught not to? They had taught themselves not to feel; for anyone, including themselves. This is one of the most painful intergenerational effects how can we love others if we are taught to self-hate? The other painful intergenerational effect is that of which are the learned behavior of disassociation from your siblings and parents. Disassociation is prevalent within my family and people. It is one of the most challenging intergenerational effects to heal from. It will take generations to heal from and to stop entirely for my family and within my people. I am a champion when it comes to disassociation. I do understand Nanny now; I don’t hold any anger or hurt towards her. I have respect, I get it now. It just didn’t help Child Billie. I do recall a good memory with Nanny; it was, again, summertime and I was the only one around the house. She was in her brightly lit, yellow kitchen and was making fry bread and some homemade bread and buns. This was my first time I ever had fry bread, I had it with maple syrup and, man, that was the best fry bread in my recollection of my life to this day! She was even in a good mood that evening as she told me to help myself. I always seemed to be alone at the grandparents’ house? And to this day, it baffles me, the only conclusion is that I was told to go straight home after school, which I did. I don’t recall seeing anyone else doing chores? says Child Billie! As a result, I know how to really clean a house. I want to say here that it wasn’t all bad childhood experiences; I have good stuff, too. We had really good Christmases, and our Halloweens were awesome. The Christmas dinners when all the tables were put together and the whole family sat around and enjoyed the feast of a turkey dinner with all the trimmings. And Halloween when we children grabbed the biggest bag we could find which was usually an empty pillowcase and literally covered the whole village trick or treating. The childhood freedom was something no other generation will ever experience, the innocence before technology is something to treasure. The village community was close, I was particularly close with my first cousin, Sophie, whose home I stayed at every weekend and in turn, she probably saved me from becoming an even bigger victim of neglect and abuse. I will be eternally grateful to her for that. When it came to my childhood and living with Nanny and Baba, she rescued me from that type of abuse for a time. However, she left me as well. With no explanation at all and that was so very confusing for me because up until then, she was my only family member that I knew, hundred percent, I could count on. Honestly, that hurt more than anything, it also fed into my abandonment, my self-value, and of course, trust issues. It happened so suddenly and I had no one, of course, to talk to because it was Sophie that I used to confide in. It was the summer before I moved down and I went to pick her up as usual for our day at Hoffman’s Beach. I had my towel, lunch, and wanted to go spend the hot day by the water. I was surprised when she opened the door slightly, not asking me in or not coming out to join me. The light was off and she just seemed very sad or angry when she told me she wasn’t joining me that day. I shrugged and went to the beach myself, I was confused, naturally, but I shook it off. I went back for a week straight and everyday it was the same, so I just gave up. What the heck? It was just one more person who abandoned me. I was very hurt for a very long time and to this day, I don’t understand what happened and when I mentioned it as adults, she basically ignored me. I have given up on ever receiving any explanation, so I’ve moved on and I understand that it wasn’t me, I had done nothing wrong. I would like to add here that I am also guilty of this behavior and would like to apologize to my beautiful nieces, Jasmine White and Kelly McKay, for just dropping off the side of the earth for them. We were so close for a while and I want to say I’m sorry for doing so. I want to clarify here and now that it was all me, I had relapsed upon return to Vancouver and while I know neither girl would ever judge me, I felt ashamed. So, I hid. I hope you girls can forgive me; I love you both and am so proud of you and glad we had the time together that we did.

Chapter Four

Heiltsuk Childhood

What did my Heiltsuk childhood look like? Well, I have memories of Indian scrub and swinging on trees when my heart would be just racing because I was so scared—the trees were so big! And I always wondered how the boys got way up there to tie the rope that was attached to a little piece of wood that we sat on? As we swung seemingly uncontrollably around the very large trunk of that tree, I was terrified! Memories of the old boardwalk going down to the wharf and during the winter, how we would all grab whatever slippery thing we could find if we didn’t have a sled and slide down that hill. My heart was, for sure, truly jumping out of my chest because a small part of me always felt that I was going to gain enough speed and go right off the edge of the wharf into that cold darkness and drown. Indian scrub was played during the warmer months of the year, mainly summer. I remember being very small and going to the big field with my oldest sister, Jackie. I was scared of the ball; she told me, Just run and I will hit it for you. Indian scrub was played by little children and older kids and it was a lot of fun. It’s our version of baseball; we had two lines and ran from one to the other side. If we made it, we were safe, then the objective was to make it back to the starting line without getting tagged. There were always a large number of kids; we also played Red Rover that I recall with my older sisters as well with other kids from the village. We would, also, as children roll down a steep-grassy hill behind the village hospital and that was fun for us. We would also visit the nurse’s residence where they would treat us to hot chocolate while we played crazy eights or board games. We would also gather a bunch of kids to play hide and go seek, during any season. During the summer, we would go to Hoffman’s beach or Martins Lake, where the water was cool and the sun was hot, carrying our packed lunches of peanut butter and jam sandwiches and Kool-Aid, where we would stay the whole day. I loved the feeling of the sun warming me after I got out of the water. Not too many of us knew how to swim; we just dog paddled, splashed, and dove around while we enjoyed the coolness of the water. How I learned to dog paddle was one summer they told me to hold my breath and jump off the wharf dock into the deep water and I would float to the top and just move my arms and kick. I did so and it was exhilarating! That is how the kids learned how to ‘swim’ in those days. The winters were cold and we would get snow so high I could only see the sky and we would jump off porches into the snow, build snow forts, and make snow ice cream. At Dad’s house, it was then that he would make Jell-O by leaving it outside to chill overnight for us kids. Jell-O always tasted amazing when Dad made it that way! Dad’s house was huge; he had inherited it from his dad, Grandpa Paul. It had two bedrooms connected by a bathroom, a large living room and kitchen, pantry, and the attic was unfinished. It was spooky there; we were always hearing noises from the attic. This is, also, when I was a very little girl who was with her parents, always. I remember being with them on several occasions, one time we were in my dad’s speedboat and going towards Old Town and along the coast, there were cherry trees. Dad was taking Mom over towards the ones we could pick from his boat because she wanted some. I have memories of being home lying on the bed between them and feeling so snug, safe, and cozy until I vomited all over us that is. Dad and Mom didn’t scold me, they just cleaned it up. I also recall Mom being sick once and I wanted to see her and Dad saying, No, come here, Willie, and drawing me ‘Hot Dog’ from the Archie comic books to keep me occupied. Dad used to draw cartoon characters in a minute flat and they always looked exactly like them! Those were my fonder memories; I also remember being with them three times as