Fresh out of high school and soft. That’s what I was. Got my first summer job working for mom and dad. I braided my hair, put on my steel toes and went to work at six a.m. just like one of the guys.

It was a hard first week. Growing up on the factory floor is a lot different than working it. I knew that steel was hard but I didn’t know what cold, hard steel can do to soft, warm hands if given the chance – rough surfaces, slivers and edges that cut like a knife. I didn’t know that the constant booming of the presses would be like a hammer on my brain and the crackle of the welders like a mosquito in my ear. I didn’t know what concrete floors ten hours a day could do to a body.

It was a very hard first week:

Who’s the chick?
Boss’s daughter.
What’s she like?
Don’t know.
What can she do?
Don’t know.
Think she’ll run to mom and tell on us?
Don’t know.

Questions can’t be answered unless they’re asked.

Some thought they knew me. A few watched me grow up, playing on the steel racks and swinging on the can pile, a tower of oilcans reaching to the sky. But even they didn’t know me – the tomboy-lady. They didn’t think I was tough enough to make the cut. I’d show them.

I started talking, answering all the unasked questions. That’s not my mom; that’s the president of the company. He’s not my big brother; he’s just my boss. Nothing more. Home becomes work when the bell rings in the morning and doesn’t change back until the bell rings in the afternoon. Stories won’t go home, honest.

I had to make them see that I wasn’t a tattletale. I was a loyal little soul. I could see a joke. I could take a joke, too, which was more important.

No, really, tell me. I can handle it.

He told me. The Other one looked startled. I could tell what he was thinking. Careful, Buddy. We don’t know if we can trust her. Would I make it? Would I be tough enough? Would I laugh? She laughed. But only after a pause so infinitesimal it wasn’t noticed. It was then that I chose to let Her make the decisions for me, to decide who I was and who I was going to become. She had made her decision. She was one of the guys.

It was easy after that. She just kept laughing. No matter what they said or did, no matter how crude or vulgar it was. Came up with a few good ones herself. They didn’t mind her pigtails anymore. They knew She wasn’t that innocent. The steel had hardened my hands and She had hardened my soul.

I had had enough. The Other one said it, something so vile. What did he say? Would she laugh? No, She didn’t laugh; I blushed. I was making the decisions in my life again. His Buddy asked, What’s wrong? I told him, I guess I’m just living up to my pigtails. He understood. Someone finally understood. Keep your pigtails a while longer, he said, keep your pigtails.

My last day. Would they miss me? She wouldn’t cry. She was one of the guys and She couldn’t let them see her cry. But that cake! And the signs! Good luck! they said. And the necklace, all for me! They would miss me! Or would they miss Her?

Off I went, tripping to school in my pigtails. I tried my best to keep my pigtails. She would come back occasionally to try to rid me of them. I always caught Her. Sometimes She would get the rubber bands undone or even unravel them halfway up. I would take them from Her and patiently braid them up and tie them again. Once I caught Her with scissors in hand, ready to chop them off entirely. But I stopped Her. Thank God I stopped Her.

I wasn’t really as soft as I thought I was. I have a little of my own steel, steel built into me to protect. She bent it, almost broke it, when I gave it to Her, when She was making me “tough”. Straightening it hurt quite a bit when I took it back and getting the kinks out will hurt even more. Nothing that’s worth it comes free. Self-respect is definitely worth it.

What are big girls made of? Of sugar and spice and everything nice, with a little steel to keep it all safe. I wear my pigtails proudly now, now that I’ve really grown up.

The End

(c) 2002
By Bernadette Loh
All Rights Reserved