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A Charmed Life

The Story Behind Connecting The Dots With The Respect Principle

ISBN 978-0-9948695-6-2

Kaitlin Ann Trepanier

Published by Kaitlin Ann Trepanier

E-Book Distributed by Smashwords

© Copyright 2017 Kaitlin Ann Trepanier

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The Story Behind Connecting The Dots With The Respect Principle


Thank you Mom and Dad. You did the best with what you believed and knew, but there was so much you did not know or understand. Neither did many other people, including the experts of the time. Thankfully, after much research, studies, and personal work, I and many others now do.

Because of what I have learned and as a result also developed, the Connecting The Dots With The Respect Principle concept, company, and global initiative, I am sharing my story to increase respect for each other’s unique differences and to encourage all of us to find ways to love unconditionally, so everyone will thrive, developing their potential to the best of their abilities.


She is a little girl who lives in a small southern Canadian town close to the American border surrounded by a sea of fertile land where one can see for miles, even when the crops are ready for harvest. Dividing the small white Scottish-settled community and neighboring communities of different origins, a dark, narrow river reflects the deep browns of the surrounding earth and rich green of the overhanging foliage rather than wide blue sky overhead, hiding what lay below, much in the same way the sunny smile of the little girl hides what lies beneath her surface.

Happiest when alone exploring the outdoor, rather than the indoor world, the little girl is drawn as a magnet is to metal. Her fascination with the natural environment and how things work sometimes made her lose track of time and her surroundings until she grows thirsty, hungry, tired, or until darkness falls. But sometimes even thirst, hunger, and tiredness cannot keep her from missing the feeling of night on her skin as she watches the dimples of light reveal themselves behind the curtains of daylight and twilight.

Though the little girl can sit for hours in stillness, eventually the electrical current coiled tight in her composed still-life form springs to life with such force an observer may wonder how one so little could look and feel so powerful. Static or moving, her internal world sometimes puts her in conflict with the outside world, placing her in harm’s way.

This is why I show up. Watching over her and keeping her safe to the best of my abilities is my job; one that proves quite challenging as you will discover.

When I first arrive, the little girl does not talk to me, but I know she knows I am there. Over time, she does start to speak to me, but since no one else can see me, her chatter makes her look even more unusual to those around her.

What’s your name? the little girl, Debbie, finally asks.

Maya, I reply and that is that. She does not ask any more questions, which is rather strange for such a curious little one, but I know she knows I am not here to limit or harm her. To her, I am a friend. Perhaps her best one, though only time would tell.

Debbie, put your clothes back on right now, her young mother cries out after opening the backyard door, her head shaking at the actions of her first born.



More silence. Not even a glance towards the open door and figure standing there.

Debbie’s mother cannot understand her daughter’s determination to shed her clothes, save her underwear, as soon as she gets out the door. Sheds the clothes and hits the sandbox before generously sharing her peanut butter sandwich with the family’s mutt pup, Skippy, as part of her two-year old’s summer routine before she ventures quietly around the large back yard. Rich with mature trees ripe for climbing, an old shed for exploring, and a small field of raspberry bushes, the back yard thankfully keeps her bold little one from the shores of the backyard river. Or so Debbie’s mother thinks.

At first, the young mother fights valiantly to redress her daughter, but she quickly discovers how futile her efforts are so she gives up and goes about her day before the next big effort of getting her little one inside looms before her. But if her Dad arrives home on time for supper, Debbie’s mother knows her valiant efforts will not be needed when their firstborn hears her father’s care pull up in the driveway.

Little changes when Debbie’s little sister arrives when Debbie is three and a half years old. The mother is surprised at her eldest daughter’s lack of interest in the basinet holding the tiny new being, which is a relief since now she can leave her eldest to her usual devices so she can tend to her new daughter’s needs. A deep hope is this new child will not be so taxing for her as her eldest. What the young mother really hopes is because her second daughter is born on her own birthday, her second daughter will have more in common with her than her eldest daughter.

No, the five-year old replies.

You cannot walk to school by yourself the first day.

Yes I can.

No you cannot and will not. I will walk with you, the young mother demands though wearily from the battle leading up to what was supposed to be a relief with her little Debbie finally entering school.

The weary mother says softly to herself, I do not care if the school is a public one rather than the Catholic school she will attend for grade one next year, I need a break. Certainly she will be fine in a public school for one year.

NO! I can go by myself!

Knowing her five-year old’s increasing independence and determination, she knows there is no point arguing, especially when she knows she has another option. A safe one.

All right, she relents, preparing herself for the exercise of stalking instead of walking her daughter. She never thought it would come to hiding behind trees, bushes, or whatever was available to ensure her daughter arrives safely and peacefully to the fenced-in schoolyard, but then again she was no longer surprised by her eldest. Or so she mistakenly believes.

How could two blocks seem so far? The young mother mutters as she scurries from hiding spot to hiding spot, praying her eldest will not turn around and discover her because of the battle that would ensue. The arrangements she made for someone to look after her second daughter while she took her eldest to school is today’s saving grace she reminds herself.

Silently, she admits, at times like these, she is also proud of her daughter’s trust and courage to venture out into the world without fear, but she is also very afraid for her bold little one.

I watch Debbie and her mother as they push against each other daily with the knowledge their relationship is never going to be easy, especially now the second daughter is proving to be the apple of her mother’s eye, as Debbie is to her dad’s eye.

But something bad I sense is pending. The problem is not school because Debbie loves to learn. Her report cards verify her love of learning with a row of A’s and no behavior problem comments. Neither is she bothered by her younger sister. Well, maybe she is a little by the attention she loses to her, especially from her mother, but school, for now is filling the attention gaps.

No, it is something else. Something really bad I know I cannot prevent, but can only try to minimize the damage with my presence.

I do not know why mom and dad are making sleep in this bed in the basement, Debbie wonders aloud trying to break the heavy, dark silence. The cement floor is so cold on my feet bare feet and the walls are not really walls. Dad says they are walls waiting for their coverings. The bed is big like mom and dad’s bed, but this one, even with the pretty pink blanket, is cold and lonely with only me in it down here. The room is very, very dark, even though there is a high little window with a little curtain. I cannot tell what color it is, but it is not totally dark because a bit of streetlight is shining through. With the blankets pulled tight up to my chin, I want to go do sleep, but for some reason I feel scared. I don’t know why. I want to go back upstairs, but I am afraid to get out of the bed. There are many footsteps I hear. Then it is quiet. I squint my eyes to try and see through the darkness, but all I see are shadows of things.

But wait! Something just moved! I say, but this time only inside of my head so it does not notice me. I want to cry out, but I know mom and dad will be mad, but I still want to run across the basement floor, my bare feet smacking the cement with each step. Or I want to become invisible.

And then I am, but not in the same place or in a way I expect.

Somehow I am suddenly crouched beside a wooden object, shivering, instead of lying in the bed. But when I look at the bed, I am still lying in the bed still as an animal caught in a trap.

How can …?

Shhhh. You are okay here with me.

The voice cooing in my ear is familiar. It’s is Maya’s voice.

Like always, questions race through my head, but for some reason right now they cannot not make it out of my mouth.

Slowly my head turns to look directly at Maya. Her eyes are wide, then narrow strangely as she looks past me and at the two figures, me and some other on the bed. Hands course over my body on top of the blankets. I do not like it, even from where I am standing. My skin feels funny, not good funny; the skin I am standing in and the skin covering the little girl’s body lying there so rigidly. My body’s skin.

Maya draws me closer, holds me tighter, and covers my eyes.

No, I whimper. Was it a no to what is happening or a no to Maya’s covering hands?

You do not need to see this little one.

I do not know what to say other than no.

And then all of a sudden, morning sounds on the floor above break the silence and draws me out of the still-cold bed. Without haste, I throw back the covers and race from one end of the basement to the other, breaking forth in the daylight with such joy I feel my heart will burst.

I know I should say something. I should tell mom and dad, but something stops me. Is it Maya? Or someone or something else?

After last night, no matter how hard I try to avoid sleeping in the basement, like falling asleep on the sofa, I wake up in the same dark, damp place I am growing to hate, as much as what I hate happens when I am in that basement alone at night. But I am happy Maya is always with me. I wonder where she sleeps. I will have to ask her.

My neighborhood friends make me forget the nights for a while during the day. Of the kids around, Kim, Keith, and Shelly, are my constant companions because we are all the same age, I think, and live close to each other. We run, we cycle, we dare each other, and we play hide and seek at dusk, trying to stay out late even as summer nights grow shorter. We even sneak back out and in at night because our house doors are never locked.

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