I arrived in New Zealand on a cold windy day, the rain was at a 45 degree angle and traffic was chaos. Ok ok, I was 7 and I have no idea what the weather was like, but Auckland is ALWAYS like that, so it's probably correct.

My grand parents picked me up from the airport and we started going home. Well, MY home. My mother didn't want me, and my grand parents sure didn't either, so I was taken from the airport directly to an Anglican orphanage in Takapuna. (If you have a photo of the orphanage before it was demolished, I'd like to use it here, thanks.) I remember being lead, kicking and screaming into a fully enclosed centre courtyard. I was left behind. For the next several years I was in and out of orphanages, foster homes and the homes of people that wanted to adopt me. I had no desire to be adopted, but neither my mother nor my grand parents wanted me. I was eventually left in the care of the government and ended up in what they called family homes.

When I was 13, I was moved to a government run family home run by Mormons, Peter and Leslie Joyce. Unfortunately Peter and Leslie had a real tempter and his fists liked to fly. I put up with this much longer than i should have, but after a year of physical abuse, and a room mate that like to wake up in the middle of night and stab my mattress with a hunting knife, I skipped school one day and instead went to the government offices to escape and tell them what was going on. Tragically, I was not believed, and these people are caring for young people to this day.

To be continued...