The Wild Boy of Waubamik: A Memoir by Thom Ernst (English) Paperback Book

Description: The Wild Boy of Waubamik by Thom Ernst A young boy endures years of abuse at the hands of his adoptive father. The Wild Boy of Waubamik chronicles the boys journey out of the ashes of fear and shame toward a life worth living, and illustrates how social systems can conspire to protect abusers. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description "An inspiring story of resilience, told with a vivid sense of character and humour." -RICHARD CROUSE, CTV host and film criticFilm critic, writer, and broadcaster Thom Ernst chronicles his life growing up with an abusive father in rural Ontario.The residents of Waubamik know about the Wild Boy, a somewhat feral child, standing nearly naked in a rusty playground of weeds and discarded metal, clutching a headless doll. They know the boy has been plucked from poverty and resettled into a middle-class family. But they dont know that something worse awaits him there. is a story of triumph, of a man who grew up to become a film critic and broadcaster despite his abusive childhood. It reminds us that life, even at its darkest, can surprise us with moments of joy and hope and dreams for the future. Author Biography Thom Ernst is a film writer, broadcaster, and critic. He was the former host and producer of TVOs Saturday Night at the Movies. Thom currently lives in Toronto with his wife, daughter, and a cat. Review A refreshing and strange coming of age story thats redolent with all the heavy stuff — mortality, impermanence, family — but also dances in the light. Thom Ernst has made his own confection, and the rewards are in the sugar of the language and the tart of the story. * Dave Bidini, author of Midnight Light *Courageously honest, and emotionally shattering, The Wild Boy of Waubamik scratches the surface of complacency to dive into the deep, secret waters of childhood sexual abuse, giving a voice to those unheard. Beautifully written, this memoir is as illuminating as it is necessary. * Heidi von Palleske, actor and author of Two White Queens and the One-Eyed Jack *Thom Ernsts harrowing, heartfelt, fascinating and thoroughly original and readable memoir of adoption and abuse — and the art that can come of them. * Ian Brown, broadcaster and award-winning author *An inspiring story of resilience, told with a vivid sense of character and humour. * Richard Crouse, CTV host and film critic *Filters trauma through pop culture, the past through screens, whether they be silver, televisual, or the many varieties of emotional self-defence. * Andrew Pyper, author of The Homecoming * Review Quote Courageously honest, and emotionally shattering, The Wild Boy of Waubamik scratches the surface of complacency to dive into the deep, secret waters of childhood sexual abuse, giving a voice to those unheard. Beautifully written, this memoir is as illuminating as it is necessary. Feature A memoir of an adopted boy who suffered abuse by his adoptive father during his 1960s childhood in rural Ontario Author shares his journey from neglect and abuse to a successful career as a film critic Author is best known as the host producer of televisions longest running movie program Saturday Night at the Movies, and is comfortable speaking to media, hosting events, giving interviews, and public speaking Excerpt from Book Chapter 1Dad didnt care much for Catholics, but I wouldnt know how much until my sister married one. Up until then I wasnt even aware we had an opinion on Catholics. Although, looking back, I recall Dad being angry at Bing Crosby for starring as a kindly priest in the 1944 film Going My Way."Theres no such thing as a good Catholic priest," Dad would say. My sister Anna was marrying James in a Catholic church. On the day of the wedding, Dad announced that hed be damned if he was going to set foot inside one of those priest-infested monstrosities and that Anna could walk herself down the aisle. Mom told Dad to stop being such a damn fool, get his suit on, and go. Thats when Dad stormed out of the house, taking Clancy, his beloved Irish Setter, with him. Uncle Quinnie was in town for the wedding. He called after Dad, but the door had already shut. Mom said that suited her just fine. She would go to the church on her own. If he decided to show up, he showed up. But she wasnt going to sit around and watch while he ruined their daughters wedding. Uncle Quinnie told Mom not to worry, that Dad would come around. Mom said she didnt care if he did. But from what I could see from the glimpse I got of Anna in the dining room that had been converted into the brides dressing room, Anna cared, and so did the bridesmaids who gathered around her. I was just grateful that Mom was angrier with Dad than she was with me for falling and tearing a hole in the knee of my new dress pants.Later, I was in the kitchen with Uncle Bob, Uncle Quinnie, and Aunt Jean. Valerie, my eldest sister, and her husband, Wayne, were also there. Dad still hadnt come around. The kitchen was small, made smaller with all the aunts and uncles crowded in trying to keep our voices down -- except Uncle Bob who, after adding a little extra something in his coffee so he could appropriately celebrate the day, said if somethings worth saying aloud, it was worth saying loud. I was the only one seated, having been commanded to stay put now that the hole in my pants had been mended. Mom walked in wearing a dress, a necklace, and bright-red lipstick. My uncle commented on how wonderful she looked. Mom offered up an exaggerated grin, meant, I suppose, to be a blushing acceptance. Then she mentioned that Dads hunting rifle was gone. This new revelation got no more weight than when Wayne had walked in announcing that Dads car was still in the garage.Aunt Jean folded her arms. She shook her head and looked to the side where it was impossible for me to read her expression. Wayne, being the junior of the men in the room, seemed unsure of how much responsibility fell to him in coming up with a solution. But since making decisions is part of Waynes DNA, he told Valerie, who should have been with the bridesmaids comforting the bride, to go on ahead to the church without him. He suggested, but not with the same authority, that Mom do the same."We cant go without him," Valerie said."To hell, we cant," said Mom." "Watch me."But I instead watched my uncles and Wayne take off their dress shoes and put on boots. As far as I knew, Mom was still calling the shots, but the division between male and female, if only by dress code, seemed clear, so I felt obligated to remove my dress shoes, too."What do you think youre doing? Leave those on and get in the car." I was surprised by the sharpness in Moms voice. Perhaps she was still mad at having had to mend my pants. I was disappointed. I would have rather gone with Wayne and my uncles."Dont worry, Marg," Uncle Bob said, heading toward the back door. "Ill drag him back by the balls if I have to.""You can leave him where he is for all I care," Mom yelled back.In the driveway was a fancy, shiny black car decorated in paper flowers and ribbons. I must have looked quite the gentleman in my suit and tie and mended dress pants, for the man who stood beside the car opened the back door. It would have been rude had I not climbed in, but just as the smell of a clean and leathery interior took hold of me, I felt a tug at the back of my pants."Haul your butt out of there. Were taking the Rambler." Mom again. The man holding the door laughed and said something about me looking so sharp he thought I was the groom. I wondered how many other people I would be able to fool into thinking I was the groom. "Get in the car, in the back." Mom pointed to the Rambler. "Aunt Jean is riding with us."I sulked with enough intensity to leave no misunderstanding as to how unfair it was that I should not be allowed to go with Uncle Bob and look for the rifle.I was told several times during the ride to sit down. It was an unusual request, given the number of road trips I spent standing with my head leaning between the driver and the front seat passenger. That way, I wouldnt be left out of the conversation, plusI got a better view because I was that much closer to the front windshield.I asked Mom if she had any gum in her purse, or perhaps a peppermint Life Saver. She said that if she had to tell me to sit properly in the back seat one more time, shed stop the car and tie me in. I sat back, firing angry vibes into the rear-view mirror. Aunt Jean rooted through her purse and found a roll of fruit-flavour Life Savers and handed me the entire roll. She said I could keep them. The first one was red, the best flavour. I popped the red Life Saver into my mouth and watched as the landscape changed from farmland to suburb.There wasnt a lot of chatting between Mom and Aunt Jean, and then I heard Mom say that she hoped Dad didnt do anything stupid, to which Aunt Jean replied, "Its a bit late for that."We arrived at the church where a young man, whom I recognized as one of Jamess brothers, greeted us at the door, took Moms arm, and walked us to the front of the church. People stared as if they knew we didnt belong in such an extravagant place and were whispering their disapproval as we passed. Indeed, I had never seen a place as extravagant as a Catholic church with its stained-glass windows, ornate lights hanging from high ceilings, painted statues of Jesus and his mother, altars covered in red-and-white satin, and a cross as big as a house. If this wasnt where God lived, then its where he summered.A man stood at the front of the church wearing white robes and a sash over his shoulders. I asked Mom if that was the minister, and she told me that hes called a priest-- a word that left her mouth with some disdain. Although he didnt look friendly, I thought he looked important, and I couldnt understand a word he said, even when he wasnt speaking Catholic. A boy, also in a white robe, stood with him. I figured the boy must be the priests son. The boy held up a bowl in which the priest dipped his fingers then took them out, shaking off the excess water. The boy handed the priest a towel, the priest dried his hand and gave the towel back. I was annoyed that the priests son got to be part of my sisters weddingand I didnt.James -- the groom -- also stood at the front. He stood soldier-straight, rubbing one hand against his pant leg as if hopelessly trying to remove something damp and sticky off his palms. He looked sharp in a dark tuxedo, smiling awkwardly at whoever he made eye contact with.Uncle Bob walked up to Mom and said something into her ear. Moms expression didnt change. She whispered something back to Uncle Bob, which I didnt hear. Uncle Bob nodded, placed his hand on Moms back, and left.Soon after, the music started -- a gentle, familiar melody that I couldnt name. The congregation rose, which made it impossible for me to see anything past a forest of butts and beltlines. Mom whispered that a procession was coming down the aisle and Valerie was in the lead. A procession, I imagined, was something like a parade but with people you recognized. I saw Valerie once the procession reached the front of the church. Valerie walked arm-in-arm with her husband, Wayne. They moved slowly as though the next step they took was more important than the one that just passed. A sombre march, in contrast with their happy and nervous faces. Next came Annas friend Claudette with Don, Jamess older brother. They, too, moved with precise, synchronized steps. The last in this procession of paired-off couples was my cousin Sue, who shared her arm with Jamess youngest brother, the other Wayne.The couples unlocked arms as they reached the front of the church, the women to the left and the men to the right. The music stopped. Someone in the congregation coughed. The priest looked down at James, then to the back of the church, and nodded. The music began again, filling the church with the elongated notes of the wedding march pumped from a pipe organ, as if announcingthe arrival of God.People shifted to get a better look. A rumble of approving voices rolled like a summer storm behind the flash of cameras. Carol Chapman -- the little girl who lived next door and my occasional playmate -- four years old, diminutive, dressed in white with a tiara-like veil attached to her hair, moved down the aisle grasping a bouquet of flowers, keeping her head facing forward as she had been firmly instructed to do, while her eyes darted from side to side, catching glimpses of the smiles and camera lightning flashes along the way. And then came the bride, my sister Anna, in a princess gown. A veil draped over her head, but one that left her teenage beauty, a face, stoic and uncertain, in full view. On her arm was Dad, wearing the suit Mom laid out for him and the boutonniere reserved for the father of the bride.Uncle Bob, Uncle Quinnie, and Wayne had found him standing with Clancy behind Montags barn. He said he was hunting rabbits. But the rabbits stayed hidden, and Dad hadnt done anything stupid. I wondered if Uncle Bob had to drag him by the balls.Dad did not smile. His eyes darted, not to catch the glimpses of friends and First Chapter Chapter 1 Dad didnt care much for Catholics, but I wouldnt know how much until my sister married one. Up until then I wasnt even aware we had an opinion on Catholics. Although, looking back, I recall Dad being angry at Bing Crosby for starring as a kindly priest in the 1944 film Going My Way. "Theres no such thing as a good Catholic priest," Dad would say. My sister Anna was marrying James in a Catholic church. On the day of the wedding, Dad announced that hed be damned if he was going to set foot inside one of those priest-infested monstrosities and that Anna could walk herself down the aisle. Mom told Dad to stop being such a damn fool, get his suit on, and go. Thats when Dad stormed out of the house, taking Clancy, his beloved Irish Setter, with him. Uncle Quinnie was in town for the wedding. He called after Dad, but the door had already shut. Mom said that suited her just fine. She would go to the church on her own. If he decided to show up, he showed up. But she wasnt going to sit around and watch while he ruined their daughters wedding. Uncle Quinnie told Mom not to worry, that Dad would come around. Mom said she didnt care if he did. But from what I could see from the glimpse I got of Anna in the dining room that had been converted into the brides dressing room, Anna cared, and so did the bridesmaids who gathered around her. I was just grateful that Mom was angrier with Dad than she was with me for falling and tearing a hole in the knee of my new dress pants. Later, I was in the kitchen with Uncle Bob, Uncle Quinnie, and Aunt Jean. Valerie, my eldest sister, and her husband, Wayne, were also there. Dad still hadnt come around. The kitchen was small, made smaller with all the aunts and uncles crowded in trying to keep our voices down -- except Uncle Bob who, after adding a little extra something in his coffee so he could appropriately celebrate the day, said if somethings worth saying aloud, it was worth saying loud. I was the only one seated, having been commanded to stay put now that the hole in my pants had been mended. Mom walked in wearing a dress, a necklace, and bright-red lipstick. My uncle commented on how wonderful she looked. Mom offered up an exaggerated grin, meant, I suppose, to be a blushing acceptance. Then she mentioned that Dads hunting rifle was gone. This new revelation got no more weight than when Wayne had walked in announcing that Dads car was still in the garage. Aunt Jean folded her arms. She shook her head and looked to the side where it was impossible for me to read her expression. Wayne, being the junior of the men in the room, seemed unsure of how much responsibility fell to him in coming up with a solution. But since making decisions is part of Waynes DNA, he told Valerie, who should have been with the bridesmaids comforting the bride, to go on ahead to the church without him. He suggested, but not with the same authority, that Mom do the same. "We cant go without him," Valerie said. "To hell, we cant," said Mom." "Watch me." But I instead watched my uncles and Wayne take off their dress shoes and put on boots. As far as I knew, Mom was still calling the shots, but the division between male and female, if only by dress code, seemed clear, so I felt obligated to remove my dress shoes, too. "What do you think youre doing? Leave those on and get in the car." I was surprised by the sharpness in Moms voice. Perhaps she was still mad at having had to mend my pants. I was disappointed. I would have rather gone with Wayne and my uncles. "Dont worry, Marg," Uncle Bob said, heading toward the back door. "Ill drag him back by the balls if I have to." "You can leave him where he is for all I care," Mom yelled back. In the driveway was a fancy, shiny black car decorated in paper flowers and ribbons. I must have looked quite the gentleman in my suit and tie and mended dress pants, for the man who stood beside the car opened the back door. It would have been rude had I not climbed in, but just as the smell of a clean and leathery interior took hold of me, I felt a tug at the back of my pants. "Haul your butt out of there. Were taking the Rambler." Mom again. The man holding the door laughed and said something about me looking so sharp he thought I was the groom. I wondered how many other people I would be able to fool into thinking I was the groom. "Get in the car, in the back." Mom pointed to the Rambler. "Aunt Jean is riding with us." I sulked with enough intensity to leave no misunderstanding as to how unfair it was that I should not be allowed to go with Uncle Bob and look for the rifle. I was told several times during the ride to sit down. It was an unusual request, given the number of road trips I spent standing with my head leaning between the driver and the front seat passenger. That way, I wouldnt be left out of the conversation, plus I got a better view because I was that much closer to the front windshield. I asked Mom if she had any gum in her purse, or perhaps a peppermint Life Saver. She said that if she had to tell me to sit properly in the back seat one more time, shed stop the car and tie me in. I sat back, firing angry vibes into the rear-view mirror. Aunt Jean rooted through her purse and found a roll of fruit-flavour Life Savers and handed me the entire roll. She said I could keep them. The first one was red, the best flavour. I popped the red Life Saver into my mouth and watched as the landscape changed from farmland to suburb. There wasnt a lot of chatting between Mom and Aunt Jean, and then I heard Mom say that she hoped Dad didnt do anything stupid, to which Aunt Jean replied, "Its a bit late for that." We arrived at the church where a young man, whom I recognized as one of Jamess brothers, greeted us at the door, took Moms arm, and walked us to the front of the church. People stared as if they knew we didnt belong in such an extravagant place and were whispering their disapproval as we passed. Indeed, I had never seen a place as extravagant as a Catholic church with its stained-glass windows, ornate lights hanging from high ceilings, painted statues of Jesus and his mother, altars covered in red-and-white satin, and a cross as big as a house. If this wasnt where God lived, then its where he summered. A man stood at the front of the church wearing white robes and a sash over his shoulders. I asked Mom if that was the minister, and she told me that hes called a priest -- a word that left her mouth with some disdain. Although he didnt look friendly, I thought he looked important, and I couldnt understand a word he said, even when he wasnt speaking Catholic. A boy, also in a white robe, stood with him. I figured the boy must be the priests son. The boy held up a bowl in which the priest dipped his fingers then took them out, shaking off the excess water. The boy handed the priest a towel, the priest dried his hand and gave the towel back. I was annoyed that the priests son got to be part of my sisters wedding and I didnt. James -- the groom -- also stood at the front. He stood soldier-straight, rubbing one hand against his pant leg as if hopelessly trying to remove something damp and sticky off his palms. He looked sharp in a dark tuxedo, smiling awkwardly at whoever he made eye contact with. Uncle Bob walked up to Mom and said something into her ear. Moms expression didnt change. She whispered something back to Uncle Bob, which I didnt hear. Uncle Bob nodded, placed his hand on Moms back, and left. Soon after, the music started -- a gentle, familiar melody that I couldnt name. The congregation rose, which made it impossible for me to see anything past a forest of butts and beltlines. Mom whispered that a procession was coming down the aisle and Valerie was in the lead. A procession, I imagined, was something like a parade but with people you recognized. I saw Valerie once the procession reached the front of the church. Valerie walked arm-in-arm with her husband, Wayne. They moved slowly as though the next step they took was more important than the one that just passed. A sombre march, in contrast with their happy and nervous faces. Next came Annas friend Claudette with Don, Jamess older brother. They, too, moved with precise, synchronized steps. The last in this procession of paired-off couples was my cousin Sue, who shared her arm with Jamess youngest brother, the other Wayne. The couples unlocked arms as they reached the front of the church, the women to the left and the men to the right. The music stopped. Someone in the congregation coughed. The priest looked down at James, then to the back of the church, and nodded. The music began again, filling the church with the elongated notes of the wedding march pumped from a pipe organ, as if announcing the arrival of God. People shifted to get a better look. A rumble of approving voices rolled like a summer storm behind the flash of cameras. Carol Chapman -- the little girl who lived next door and my occasional playmate -- four years old, diminutive, dressed in white with a tiara-like veil attached to her hair, moved down the aisle grasping a bouquet of flowers, keeping her head facing forward as she had been firmly instructed to do, Description for Sales People A memoir of an adopted boy who suffered abuse by his adoptive father during his 1960s childhood in rural Ontario Author shares his journey from childhood sexual abuse to a successful career as a film critic The wild boy of the title refers to an imaginary friend or alter ego seen by young Thom, who berates Thom for not standing up to his abuser Author is best known as the host producer of televisions longest running movie program Saturday Night at the Movies , and is comfortable speaking to media, hosting events, giving interviews, and public speaking Book setting: Waterloo Region, Northern Ontario, and Toronto Author residence: Toronto Details ISBN145975087X Author Thom Ernst Short Title The Wild Boy of Waubamik Language English Year 2023 ISBN-10 145975087X ISBN-13 9781459750876 Format Paperback Subtitle A Memoir Publisher Dundurn Group Ltd Imprint Dundurn Group Ltd Place of Publication Toronto Country of Publication Canada UK Release Date 2023-04-13 Pages 248 Illustrator Simone Fumagalli Birth 1932 Affiliation University of Michigan Position Associate Professor Qualifications Ph.D. Publication Date 2023-04-13 Alternative 9781459750883 DEWEY 616.8582239092 Audience General AU Release Date 2023-06-06 Illustrations Illustrations We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. 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