It's been a long two years for us,” John Pollari, 38, said during yet another search of Toronto's streets. Janis McLeod, Justin's stepmother, carried the briefcase. Inside were pictures of Justin mostly, photocopied posters that, on this cold November day, they would post in shelters and drop-in centres around the city. It's obvious they've travelled this road before. There are also letters and drawings of Justin's that elicit a haunting feeling about this quiet, angry, boy. The letter: “I really hate school and the government,” he wrote three months before he left, to his Grade 9 teacher. “At class I plan on trying until I get sick of it, then I'll give up and drop out when I'm 16.” The sketch: Himself with a Mohawk haircut that he proudly sculpted using wood glue, a dog collar that he wore and his skateboard. His parents used the drawing for a poster and affixed the words: “Justin we love you, call us! Let us know you're alive.”
Justin's case is unusual in that he'd never run away before and hasn't contacted anyone. Runaway teens are typically heard from at some point, if not by their family, then by friends. Three-quarters are chronic runaways, according to National Missing Children Services, an investigative agency for the country's police forces. (Of 66,500 cases of missing children last year, 86 per cent were solved within a week.)
“I have to admit, I'm a little obsessed with Justin's case,” said Jan Barr, case manager for Child Find Ontario. “My feeling is he's out there.” She often gets calls of a Justin sighting. His picture is plastered on transport trucks, billing envelopes, Web sites and public bulletin boards here and south of the border — ironic, since Justin hated having his picture taken. Barr is required to pass on any sighting to the Ontario Provincial Police officer assigned to Justin's case. But she doesn't always contact the family, knowing the toll it takes when another report proves false.
But this latest sighting got even Barr excited. On Nov. 13, a boy fitting Justin's description and four other kids stopped at the Metropolitan United Church on the corner of Church and Queen Sts., part of a vast Toronto network that feeds and houses hundreds of street kids. They were given food and clothing before apparently going to panhandle at the Dundas St. bus station.
“He called himself J,” said Judy, the outreach worker. He wore army pants, a Mohawk haircut and backpack. “He had layers of sweaters on and that's why I offered them coats. They looked very young.”
On a gut feeling, she searched the Internet for photos of missing children, spotted Justin's photo and called Child Find. It was the first call that Justin's parents had received from the agency since spring.
When Justin fled, the days and weeks that followed were filled with frantic searches for a boy legally too young to be out on this own. Believing he had gone to Toronto, his parents, grandparents and other relatives made seven-hour trips down from the Soo. They drove aimlessly along city streets, toured homeless shelters, lingered at punk rock concerts and skateboard hangouts, and talked to homeless kids.
“Being on his own, we thought ‘How on earth is he going to stay alive?’ ” McLeod said. Now after two years, feelings of panic, fear, guilt and depression have given way to cautious hope, an inner voice that tells them, yes, he must just be having too good a time to call; otherwise, why wouldn't he? “We still look at every teenage kid every day. When we're out driving, we turn the car around so we can look a kid in the face.”
One of the first stops on their recent trip to Toronto was Covenant House on Gerrard St., east of Yonge. It's the country's largest youth shelter that each year assists more than 5,000 kids, most of whom have fled or been forced from home. Justin wouldn't have been allowed to stay here until he turned 16, but one of the first things that young runaways do is buy fake I.D.
A burly man named Ron, with pigtails and a crocheted hat, pulls a binder of missing children from behind the oak front desk. “If he's been on the street for two years, he knows how to get around,” he said, pulling out Justin's picture. His parents hand over a new poster. He suggested they try some Out of the Cold programs that offer hot meals around the city.
Justin's parents used to believe in a civic duty to feed and house street kids. No more. They believe Justin was lured by the apparent glamour of living on Toronto streets. “It's difficult to even say, but we really aren't in favour now of all of the support that goes toward homelessness and shelters, because it's created a lifestyle,” McLeod said. “The intention is good, but on the flip side it has actually created a way for kids to live on the street.”
More than half who arrive at Covenant House are from outside the city, mainly Northern Ontario and the Maritimes. Few find life on the street or in shelters a pleasant experience, said program director Carol Howes. But more to the point: far fewer parents come looking for them. “Most kids don't have the option of going home,” she said.