Pubdate: Mon, 18 Mar 2013
Source: Province, The (CN BC)
Copyright: 2013 Postmedia Network Inc.
Contact: http://www2.canada.com/theprovince/letters.html
Website: http://www.theprovince.com/
Details: http://www.mapinc.org/media/476
Author: Susan Lazaruk

OVERCOMING DRUG ADDICTION AND CRIME

Man who led rock-bottom life can understand at-risk youth

This is the first of six profiles on recipients of the 2013 Courage to
Come Back Awards, presented by Coast Mental Health to six outstanding
people who have overcome great obstacles only to give back to their
communities. Their inspiring comebacks will be celebrated at a gala
dinner at the Vancouver Trade and Convention Centre on April 25.

The transition from violent drug-addicted criminal to respected youth
worker and First Nations artist wasn't smooth or quick for Curtis Miller 
Joe.

After getting clean, but before he got a criminal record pardon, he
was virtually unemployable.

"It took me 14 years to get a job," said Joe, who overcame abuse as a
child and a violent criminal past to win the 2013 Courage to Come Back
Award in the social diversity category.

"I started taking courses (called) healthy relationships and
alternatives to violence. I became a D and A (drug and alcohol)
counsellor. I just kept taking what (courses) I could," he said in his
East Vancouver apartment that doubles as a studio for his native
beading and jewelry making, and which he shares with a teen daughter.

Years ago, "I was (almost) hired by the Surrey school division," said
Joe.

"But then HR (Human Resources) said, 'This is the worst record we've
ever seen.' They said they couldn't hire me. But they said, 'We
applaud you for trying. Keep trying.' "

To make his life more challenging, Joe, 53, who's over six feet tall
with muscular tattooed arms and a long knifing scar on his forehead,
one of his 25 stab wounds, became an instant full-time dad in his
mid30s when his twin 11-year-old girls came to live with him.

"These girls raised me for six years," said Joe with an easy
laugh.

"I'm not kidding. I said to them, 'Do I have to feed you or do you
feed yourselves?' They said, 'No, you have to feed us.' "

He was fresh out of treatment for his heroin addiction, his fifth and
final attempt, and had been living in a recovery house, "learning how
to behave and how not to behave by watching people," he said.

"I realized I couldn't rob anyone any more. It (recovery) kind of
wrecked it for me."

Joe, whose native mother grew up in residential schools and whose
father he met only once, had no template for family life.

He was taken into custody in 1968 by Children's Aid when he was seven
years old after the house he was living in was raided for drugs.

He spent the next five years in a foster home with a "brutal" couple
who lived on a farm.

"There's nothing good I could say about that time," he said without
bitterness.

He first tried heroin at age 11 and ended up on the street at age 12,
going in and out of group homes and schools, "getting high, sleeping
wherever and surviving however I could."

He did break-and-enters to get money for hotel rooms and heroin, got
involved with gangs and "lived a constant life of crime."

The arrival of cocaine in the 1980s made Joe's life
worse.

"Once I started doing that, I pretty much became an idiot, out of
control. I lost all my morals."

His epiphany came during his last jail term when he saw a 53-year-old
among the 18-year-olds, looking for drugs, and thought, "Wow, that
could be me 20 years from now."

He got involved in jail with the Native Brotherhood fellowship, native
carving, powwow dancing and sweat lodges.

He started going on the powwow trail, competing in dance competitions
across the Prairies, a trip he still makes every summer, wearing
outfits he designs and beads himself, and he taught dancing.

Waiting for his pardon, he took a course to become a life skills coach
and became artist-in-residence at a Gastown gallery before he got work
as a youth worker on a Saskatchewan reserve for a few years.

He now has a permanent full-time job as the child and youth worker for
the Delta school district, where he can identify and relate to
troubled kids and act as mentor.

Principals and students praised his work in letters recommending him
for the award, including how he worked at one Delta elementary school
with a group of at-risk boys who were "extremely disengaged," showing
signs of drug use and aggression.

"It is exciting to watch Mr. Miller instil pride and self-respect in
these boys," wrote Chalmers elementary school principal Ken
Levenstein.
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