In the Best Interests of the Child or Child Endangerment?

UNDER CONSTRUCTION

I was born in Whitehorse, Yukon on Septempter 5,1967 to Jane Dick and Billy Ladue of Watson Lake and Ross River respectively. I was their fifth and final child. I was born with lots of black curly hard and grey eyes. I have four siblings: Shirley, Frank, Gary and Terry.

When I was a couple of months old I was taken away by a government social worker probably because my mother was drinking and leaving us kids with our 13 year old Aunt Josephine and our grandmother. The social worker took my brother Terry and me to Watson Lake to Katie and Vic Johnson's foster home. I lived there for close to three years and Terry would continue to live there until he was 12 yeard old. My mother died on January 07, 170 of a suspect brain hemorage. The kind of brain hemorage that would happen if someone struck her in the head with something heavy. So our family maintains that she was murdered by the white man she was hanging out with at the time. I think his man was Sam and he had a little red car. My sister Shirley remembers him.

My dad Billy, drowned in Little Salmon Lake sometimme in August of 1970 just weeks after he was forced to sign papers releasing me to be adopted. My cousin remembers this incident we lost two family members that sad day. I have been told over and over again that Jane and Billy were good people. I get to see pictures of my parents every I worked at Dena Cho Kanadi (Yukon College - Ross River Campus) and it makes me feel good knowing that they lived and shirley looks like Mom and Gary and Franmk look like Dad.

I was adopted in late August or ealy September bu Lois and Jim Close. The day I was taken away from Terry and Mom Johnson I stopped talking and Terry stopped eating. About a month after the adoption Lois took me out to see Mom Johnson and Terry. I was so happy to be going home again. Terry and I sat in a corner as I fed him food and babled to him about my new family. When I was born my name was Sharon Jean (Jane) Ladue then because of the adoption my name was Sharon Anne Close, and it stayed that way until March of 1987 when I legally chaned my name to SharonAnne RoJeane LaDue.

I lived with the Close's for eleven tormented and terrifly years. Lois abused me, hitting me, throwing me into walls, even went to far as to try and kill me in my sleep. Worse than all the physical abuse was the psychological or emotional abuse I endured. She was constayly telling me I was no good, unworthy of her love and that I was just Indian trash.

What a horrible messages to grow up with. To make things worse I lived in a town divided by race and I didn't fit in because I was an Indian living in the white world. I was a social outcast.

I had no one to turn to so I turned inward, away from society. I grew up inside myself in a world of dreams and fantasy. I rarely spoke to my adopted family and as the abuse worsened I began to act out at school. I would pick on the teachers until they were angry, frusterated and fed up with me. I would not pay attention in lessons; instead I would drift off into my dream world, I would doodle, cut up scraps of paper, all the time trying tp figure out how to save myself from the hell that awaited me after school. Things still got worse, my adoptive parents often dropped me off at Mom Johnson's for a couple of weeks at a time when they would go away on trips. While living at Mom Johnson the physical and emotional abuse would cease but a sexual predator --a transsexual living at Mom's got to me and all the other kids too, including my brother Terry. Oh I am not talking about an adult I am talking about a teenager foster child, Donald Alec. He was manipulative, demanding, cruel, and he wanted desparetely to be a woman. He was the eldest of our generation of foster children therefore he had control, he knew it, amd he used it.

Whatever my adoptive family had't destroyed, he took and ruined ...I had no one but myself. How could I possibly go to the woman I called "Mom" and tell her the hurt that I suffered? She would have placed the blame on me and solely on me. I knew I did not want to hear her tirade, so I kept what Donny did to me and to the others, a secret, until I could no longer act as if evertyhing was okay in my life. I was a ticking time bomb.

When I was fourteen years old, just after my fourteenth non-birthday party, I decided it was time to leave "home", or as I thought of it: the house of horrors. I stole my adoptive father's business money, about $1000.00 and hid it. No one knew I had stolen it, I acted shocked when Jimmy asked me if I had seen it and that he thought he had lost it. I kept the money hidden for most of a month, dipping into it once and awhile to buy myself a treat or to buy temporary friends at school. After two months of plotting and planning, I decided it was time to leave. Based on my limited knowledge, I knew kids my age weren't supposed to be having sex, drinking alcohol, smoking pot or even smoking cigarettes. I was doing all of it and I couldn't stand it any longer. I tried reaching out for help but there was no one there to rescue me, or so I thought. After my unsuccessful runaway scheme, I met Trish Archibald, the local Family and Children Services social worker. She was tall and had bright red curly hair. She was my savior. Within one week of my runaway attempt, she had me on airplane headed for the Admission and Assessment Center in Whitehorse. I was getting my wish, I was leaving home, but at the same time, I was scared out of my mind. When I arrived at Whitehorse Airport, my biological brother, whom I hadn't seen in years, was there with a tall, gangly man with a mess of dark hair, Jerry Cyr. I lived at the Admission and Assessment Center for a year, then I moved to a group home called 5030 5th. Ave. My belongings lived there for about three months, me? I was there off and on until Halloween Night 1982. I ran away or as they called it, AWOL. I went to the school dance, got into a fight with another juvenile delinquent from the centre. As I was hauled away by Youth workers, I was furious. The Youth workers asked the principal of Jeckell Jr. High, John Davies to drive the car to get me to the center. I was out of control. Half way to the center, I pulled a knife on the principal and Youth workers, demanding that they stop the car and let me go. I don't know who was more scared, me or them. All I know is that the car stopped and my door opend and somebody had reached in and grabbed me in a headlocke. I couldn't move or fight any more. All the youth workers picked me up and hauled me into the "quiet room." I yelled, screamed, pounded my fists on walls, banged my head until I was bleeding. I was out of control. I finally fell asleep. It was decided that I would return to the Assessment Center until they found a better living situation for me. I was there until January. Then I lived with Danielle Denard, who was originally from France. It was pretty good situation for most of a year, then she suddenly stopped being supportive and caring. In October of 1983, I ran away and refused to go back. Danielle was hurt, our friends thought I used her and I was hurt. I went back to the Assessment Center, again. I lived ther about three weeks while several workders tried to convince me to move into 16 Klondike Rd. group home. No way, not me. My older brother, Terry lived at 16 Klondike, now look at him, he's in jail. I knew all about Klondike Rd., it was a waiting place until you go to jail. Finally, after putting up with the shit at the Center, I finally agreed to check out the group home. I ended up living there for almost 3 years.