Biography

Going to be re-written, new title but similar idea. This was also the story idea I proposed to begin with: Francois Villon. New Title, New Name, New Ideas - Upcoming hopefully summer 2009.1

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When I was born my parents fought over my name. So much so, I wasn’t named for several days after I was born. My mother wanted to name me after a piece in her collection of Renaissance art pieces. However my father, belittling her fancy shot the name down, essentially saving me years of teasing and bullying. His name was how ever too simple for my mother, she envied a name of elegance. Finally, they came to a name, a name which meant peacefulness, and bravery. Ferdinand Liam Boire, I, the only child of Nancy Grace Boire and Jordan Liam Boire. My parents were never very close, although I liked to believe they were. They didn’t fight for a few years after naming me, however they didn’t talk much, escaping in their work.3

My father worked as an unsuccessful car salesman, and my mother was a devoted politician. An odd couple yes, but they lasted 25 years together. My father had received a degree in science and gone to university for 4 years studying biology and zoology. My mother had taken history throughout highschool and university, planning on becoming a history teacher. She had completed all her required degrees, with a masters in American and Canadian history, when her father, former mayor of Toronto passed away. He lay on his deathbed for 2 years before finally succumbing to brain cancer. Time passed, as she stared at her certificates, when she finally decided to become what her father was, a politician. My father after finishing school met my grieving mother, and fell in what most people could call love. Although I would greatly appreciate calling it... well, something else. Meeting her distracted him from his work, and eventually led to his lay off. My mother quickly gained a reputation for herself, working her way up through the smaller towns, becoming one of the leading candidates in each election, but never winning one. My father found a job thanks to his father - my grandfather - in car sales. Boire Used Cars, a family business my grandfather wanted to end with him. It raked in little business and was more a labour of love.4

Both my parents came from large families. Six kids in each, oddly three girls and three boys to each family as well. Every child on my father’s side was skilled in either a science, mathematics or computers. While the children from my mother’s side were procrastinators, they left many things to the very last minute. However they were naturally talented at school. Receiving high grades in all classes, besides physical education. They all eventually found jobs in their dream careers, however were all fired due to latency and tardiness of all their paperwork. Excluding my mother. I came from intelligent families.5

My mother and father moved to the country side, just south of a small village, that scraped the edge of Toronto. My mom quickly found her place as head of sanitation for the area, while my dad commuted to his work, about 30mins away. They bought a small 4 room house, in the middle of a farming community. Here they were happy for a year until my mother lost her job. It was a financial recession for the area, the mayor fired his entire staff and hired cheaper staff at half the cost. This is when they started to fight. My dad having a stale job, and my mother jobless were roughed for money, eventually having to sell their house and move into an even smaller home. This home wasn’t permanent, thank god. The mayor was eventually impeached for taking bribes from low life mafia workers from Toronto. Thus, an election was called, and my mother after one year of unemployment found her way to mayor.6

Though the squabble of life didn’t quit in our home. Able to buy a larger house out in the country, my mother and father settled back down when a day came, my mother 35 years of age and father 38 years decided to give birth to a child. It was over dinner one night, they hadn’t fought for half a year. They were feeling comfortable with themselves, when my mom, looked into my father’s eyes. She cried just a little, than spoke up: “Jordan,” she pause, formatting her speech, “I think...” pausing once more, grabbing enough courage. My dad listening intently, ushering her to continue: “I want a child.” Silence fell over the table, the food getting cold, my dad took another bite of his roast beef. Taking the silence with denial, my mom again spoke up. “So, what do you think.”7

My dad with all his years of life, and his education, and his pride, could not seem to answer. Still fermenting his answer, wanting a yes, his eyes and hands found hers. She didn’t know what to say, but she knew his answer. It was that night in early June, I was conceived, and approximately 2 weeks later, they knew I would be born in just 9 months.8

Nine months of happiness, the happiest they’ve ever been. My mother’s career was very successful, the community grew more in her term than it has in 20 years. My father enjoyed his job for the first time ever. Though no more successful than it was, he looked forward to my birth. Naive is a good word to describe my parents. Unaware that children need a lot of care, from a caring family. The month was February, there was a snowstorm coming for the night. Estimated 30cm of snow. When her water broke 2 weeks early. It was 12 midnight, and snow came down like water in a shower. It took one hour and thirty minutes before they finally reached the hospital. My mother was in horrible pain the whole trip. Finally reaching the hospital it was 5 more hours until my birth. In 1992, on February 8th, at 6:32am I was born 9pounds 8ounses. A lovely baby boy. Seven days later I was given my name, and cradled in my new home alive and well.9

I didn’t cry when I was born. I stayed silent. I like to think that’s why I am so shy, but I know it was caused by other means. I had asthma, and was hospitalized at 3 months after suffering a severe asthma attack. My physician told my parents this could be caused at birth because I hadn’t exercised my lungs by screaming or crying. My mother from then on, feared for my life as I slept at night.10

I slept in a crib that took my dad several weeks to make. However I didn’t sleep in it for long. Amazing craftsmanship, worthy of my grace, but my mother grew weary of the crib. At the time we had two ‘teenage’ cats, and a small puppy. All of which would find their way into my crib at night. I didn’t mind, I was comfortable. But my mother, scared for me, took me out of the crib and found another place for me. That fine crib was unused from then on, not even by the pets. All I remember, and I do remember bits and pieces, was that I was given this smaller, and uncomfortable crib, that kept me up all night and day crying. At least the animals couldn’t touch me.11

I was barely one year old when my parents broke into harsh fight. I thankfully don’t remember that fight one bit. My dad had just lost his job and my mom accused him of being a lazy drunk - which I in my time have come to know was severely wrong - and was threatening to walk out. Completely forgetting her 11month old baby boy. She started packing and walked out the door, when they tell me I began to cry. I cried loudly, as if I had been hurt... badly. She stopped looked back at Jordan and ran back in to me. Suddenly their fight was nothing they ran to me and comforted me. I hushed and they moved on.