Paperback
-
PICK UP IN STORECheck Availability at Nearby Stores
Available within 2 business hours
Related collections and offers
Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781468566956 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 04/20/2012 |
| Pages: | 236 |
| Sales rank: | 838,768 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.54(d) |
Read an Excerpt
MAIDIN IRON
By Ana Padilla
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 Ana PadillaAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4685-6695-6
Chapter One
I was awake for most of the night. Sleep was sporadic; I kept tossing and turning with disturbing dreams of my upcoming journey. As I lay there with my eyes wide open, I finally looked over to my nightstand; the face of the clock indicated 4:00 a.m. The alarm was set to wake me at 4:30 a.m. With a sigh, I reached over and shut the alarm button off before it could buzz. My nerves were strung tight and I had a knot in my stomach. I was excited, determined, and scared shitless.This was it. I was starting a new job and a new life as an ironworker apprentice. No women had gone before me in this male-dominated field in New Mexico. My heart was doing a staccato beat. I had waited a long time for this day to arrive. Now that it had, I was terrified, yet exhilarated.
It was time to get up, so I threw the covers back and swung my feet onto the cold wood floor. It was brisk that March morning, so I hurried into the cramped eight foot by ten foot bathroom to wash up and prepare for the upcoming three-and-a-half-hour drive.
I was living at home with my parents. This was the home where I grew up. As I showered, I thought about all the things I was going to do with the money from this new high-paying job. I would be able to fix my car and help my parents out. I also imagined how I could pamper myself.
As I stepped out of the shower, reality hit. The San Juan Power Plant was two hundred miles away. I was not sure what weather or road conditions I would encounter. I felt sick to my stomach. I knew from studying the map and watching the local newscast where Farmington, New Mexico was located, but I had never traveled that far on my own.
I was going into a new employment arena, ruled by men. I would be far from home, with no friends or relatives to stay with or to rely on for support. I may have been a grown woman, but I was still ignorant of the world. I had been protected by my parents and my strict Catholic upbringing. For most of my life, I had been shielded from the ruthlessness of humanity.
I hoped that my little Volkswagen would get me to my destination without breaking down. The engine had been failing. Some days, it took several tries to get it started. I had to secure the job and bring home a paycheck first, and then I could concentrate on paying bills and fixing my car.
My suitcase was packed and waiting by the bedroom door along with my tool belt. The belt consisted of a round galvanized wire holder, a pair of pliers, and a canvas pouch to carry gloves or other hand tools. I didn't know exactly what to expect, but I knew that I would be tying steel reinforcement, known as rebar.
As an apprentice ironworker, I would be earning more money than I had ever earned. By joining the Ironworkers Local 495, I was guaranteed to earn the same rate of pay as my fellow male apprentices.
Back in my bedroom, I dressed hurriedly. I could hear my mom in the kitchen rolling out the dough for flour tortillas.
I took one last look around the room that I had occupied for the last few months. I picked up my suitcase and tool belt and let my nose lead me toward the fresh aroma that permeated the air from my mother's tortillas.
Mom and Dad were just as excited about their hita's new job as I was. My parents were blessed with nine children. We were always called mi hito or mi hita, meaning "my little girl" or "my little boy." It is a common term of endearment in our Spanish culture when referring to one's children.
My dad was sitting with his elbows on the kitchen table, drinking his morning coffee, and mom was at her usual place in the kitchen, behind the snack bar counter, rolling out flour tortillas and setting them on the stove to cook. Mom always made hot cocoa and I smelled its sweetness in the air.
"Good morning," I greeted my folks, on my way out the front door to load the car and start the engine of my little Volkswagen.
It was still dark outside, and there was a chill in the air. I put the defroster on to melt the frost that coated the windshield and ran back inside to get a cup of hot cocoa. My mother urged me to eat some breakfast: "Come and sit down and eat hija, I'll get you some cocoa and a tortilla with butter."
"Mom, I'm too nervous to eat. Besides I can stop and grab something on the way." The butterflies I felt fluttering in my stomach testified to my edginess about the trip and new job, so I knew that any food I ate might end up on my shoes.
Mom was having none of that, though. "Bueno, if you don't want to eat now, I'll make you a couple of egg burritos to take with you."
It was 5:00 a.m. and time for me to be on the road. The Volkswagen was cozy warm and the windows defrosted, so I kissed my mom and dad goodbye. It is a Spanish custom to give a blessing to a loved one before traveling to insure a safe journey. I kneeled before my parents while they laid their hands on my head and prayed for my safe journey. Rising from my kneeling position by the door, I gave each parent another hug and kiss; I went out the front door, climbed into my bug, and I was off on my big adventure.
Although the outside temperature gauge read thirty-five degrees, my first stop was at a convenience store to buy a large diet Pepsi, to get my morning caffeine. I left Albuquerque with that large diet Pepsi, mom's spicy green chile breakfast burritos and the road map which lay on the passenger's seat. My heart was full of hope and pounding with trepidation. I headed northwest on Highway 44, now known as Highway 550, which would get me as far as Farmington, New Mexico, then I would go on to the San Juan Power Plant.
I felt prepared physically and mentally because of the hours I had spent at the local apprenticeship school learning some of the basics of the ironworker trade. I had the right tools and knew how to tie the wire on the rebar. Rebar is slang for reinforcing steel used in concrete to improve its tension quality. What I was not prepared for was the uncertainty, not knowing the reaction, my presence on a male-dominated construction job would be like. I was the first woman ever to dare intrude into the field of ironworkers as an apprentice in the State of New Mexico and the surrounding Rocky Mountain Region. The Rocky Mountain Region in the 1970s was comprised of New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, Arizona and Texas.
I had no idea what a power plant looked like, much less what my reception would be. The only thing that I hoped for was that I would be able to handle the men's response to their female counterpart.
The reason I was sent to the San Juan Power Plant was that there were already a few female workers there. These women belonged to the laborers union. They cleaned the portable toilets, swept, and did general clean-up. These women had important jobs; however, they were not skilled workers. They did not work in especially dangerous situations. The men didn't consider them a threat to their male egos or their livelihood, so these women were accepted on a construction site as necessary workers doing the chores that a skilled craftsman would not consider doing. Also, these women were attractive and friendly, so they provided a delightful distraction without being intimidating.
I would be a tradeswoman, a trained and skilled ironworker, after I completed my three-year apprenticeship. New Mexico Ironworker Local 495 had never had a woman apprentice. General opinion was that no woman could possibly handle the heavy work required of a strong, broad-shouldered macho male ironworker.
While I was blissfully unaware of any drama unfolding at the power plant, the workday had started, and there was a rumor circulating that a lady ironworker apprentice was coming out on the job.
One man stated, "This is a hell of a way to start the day. We don't need any damn women on the job."
Another said, "Well, I won't mind if she has nice tits and a great ass. Ha Ha."
Still another voiced his concerns: "I'll bet she's at least six-feet tall, weighs two-hundred-pounds and is able to wrestle a man to the ground. Plus, she probably looks like a dog."
The comments continued with more speculation about the new arrival. Finally someone said, "Well, we're gonna be stuck with her, so I hope she can at least be a gofer. Problem is, this ain't no picnic, and she'll have to learn that right away. None of us guys is gonna lift a finger to help her out."
What the ironworkers of local 495 were getting was a determined 26 year old petite female, five-feet-two-inches tall who weighed 102 pounds. Also, I didn't consider myself a beauty, but I wasn't a dog either.
Chapter Two
Three and a half hours on the road and traveling alone allowed me time to think. Listening to the latest pop tune on my radio, I settled back for the long drive. Cocooned in the warmth of my little Volkswagen, I let the music flow and soothe my agitated nerves. I began thinking back to the time when I was a child and of the hardships my folks had endured and overcome. I thought about my problematical marriage and recent divorce. I tried to keep my mind busy so that I would not dwell on my upcoming first day.My parents were married in 1946 shortly after Dad returned from fighting overseas in World War II. Dad survived the Battle of the Bulge and suffered the prejudices and hardships of army life in the 1940s before returning to his native New Mexico. For thirty years he worked as a warehouseman at the military base in Albuquerque. Dad worked hard and was a good provider. He would walk the five blocks to the bus stop and ride the bus every day to insure his family was provided for. Neither of my parents completed high school. That's the way it was in the 1920s and 1930s in New Mexico during the Great Depression. My parents came from small towns outside Albuquerque. In those days, children quit school early to help on the ranch or went to work in order to help support their families.
My parents continually struggled financially to keep food on the table. My parents held us together through sheer determination and love. They kept us secure in the knowledge that we had each other and would stand together against outside forces. Our family consisted of my mom, Paula, who not only birthed nine children, but also nurtured and loved us. She instilled in us the principles that we would need throughout our lives. My mother was a strong woman who ingrained in her children, especially the girls, a sense of independence. Although mother taught us to think for ourselves and to be self-reliant, in the Spanish culture, women usually learned at an early age that one important role in their lives was the care of family, especially the men.
My dad was named Eduardo. For the most part he was the silent parent until it was time to take the belt out and mete out discipline. What I remember most about my dad was that he used to like to play the guitar and sing. He also drank and smoked too much. My sister Olivia was the first born and tiny. She and I fought constantly, as most sisters do; however, we were also best friends. I was the second child. When Eduardo II came along, our lives changed. He was the first boy and consequently was spoiled by everyone. After Eddie Boy, as the family called him, came three more girls, Dianna, Elisa, and Angela, then three more boys, Carlos, Gary, and Robert.
When I was born on April 15, 1949, it was Good Friday and stormy, with the wind howling. Within the warm confines of our humble two-bedroom home Mom gave birth. Mom said it was a relatively easy birth considering that I was breach and weighed almost nine pounds; even then, I was on the move and determined to land on my feet. I was christened Annabelle because my grandmother liked the name. Although the spelling was anglicized, my parents pronounced it "Anabel," the Spanish way. In those days, doctors actually made house calls, so I was born in the house where I grew up. I was a chubby baby with a sunny disposition and an eagerness to get moving, at nine months I was already walking around on wobbly legs.
By the time my mother had six children she was worn out. During her last three pregnancies, she was confined to bed. I took over some of Mom's responsibilities. I learned to cook and clean at a young age. I would pull a stool up in front of the stove and the sink in order to reach. I changed lots of diapers and helped with the younger siblings; consequently, my three youngest brothers called me Mom until I was twenty-one years old and left home.
It was a good thing there was very little traffic on Highway 44 at six in the morning as I returned by thoughts to the present. I caught a glimpse of the sun peaking out in the east through my rear-view mirror. I started to get hungry, so I reached over for one of my mom's breakfast burritos. I was still a long way from my destination, so while I munched on my burrito, I continued to delve into my past.
I was proud of my heritage, but frustrated that sons and daughters were usually treated differently. Daughters were brought up and taught to be independent, but also to take care of the men in the family. Daughters were supposed to cook, clean, and spoil the males. Sons were taught to be chauvinistic and pampered; they were brought up expecting to be taken care of by a woman. Consequently, in the Spanish culture, men start looking for mother substitutes rather than wives and companions. They grow up believing that the woman should be at home, not working outside the home, and especially not doing a man's job. I grew up in that environment. I faced this backward attitude and endured its consequences continually during my years in the ironworker trade.
I grew up poor by most standards. My father worked hard as a warehouseman, but his paycheck alone was hardly adequate to house, feed, clothe, and educate nine children. Life was a struggle at times, but my folks made sure that their kids were taken care of. My dad built the house in which I was born. When the house was originally built, it had a small kitchen with a wood burning cooking stove, a living room, two bedrooms, and one eight by ten foot bathroom. It remained the family home until he passed away in 1997.
I attended San Felipe Grade and Middle School in Albuquerque's Old Town area, and then went on to Saint Vincent's Academy for young ladies. I played alto saxophone throughout my school years and was considered a tomboy by the neighborhood kids. I grew up playing with boys, along with my sisters and brothers. I loved to run and be athletic until it was discovered that I had rheumatic fever. I was forced to refrain from all physical activities for several years while under a doctor's care. I had to have penicillin shots once a month and then was switched over to pills. But, my independent nature would not allow me to be confined and on medication indefinitely, so while in high school, I took matters into my own hands and simply decided to discontinue my medication. Fortunately the symptoms of my rheumatic fever never recurred.
I had other struggles throughout my young life. I was a second child between the first child born and the first boy. My parents tried to spread their love equally, but as in so many cases, I grew up in the shadow of my siblings. My older sister, Olivia, was an A student who was only one year ahead of me in school. This made school difficult for me because I was constantly compared with my older and much smarter sister, so I was expected to emulate her rather than develop my own personality.
Because of my insecurities, I developed a stutter that endured until high school. I was terrified of being singled out and made to read in front of the class. I would break out in a cold sweat, the words on the page would blur, and my voice would quiver with suppressed emotion. Standing there trying to get the words out, but getting tongue-tied was traumatic. It was humiliating to grow up being the brunt of jokes. I was harassed by some of the more belligerent boys and my stuttering was mimicked.
Through it all I tried to maintain a sense of humor and was often seen with a heartwarming smile on my face, but the lasting effect was that I became extremely shy. I took a speech class at St. Vincent's and went on to win first place in oration. Consequently, I found that I could speak up and developed a strong personality, which eventually eclipsed my other faults and short-comings.
Growing up in my older sister's shadow, I was shy and withdrawn. Olivia was the strong one, the one to speak out. To take command. The first son was spoiled to the point where he suffered emotional problems throughout his life. Being the first boy, he was pampered and protected by both mother and father. The fact that he was born into a Spanish culture didn't help. My brother and I fought constantly while growing up. We had knock-down drag-out fights. He bullied, and I retaliated to survive. However, as much as we fought as youngsters, when we grew older we eventually became good friends.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from MAIDIN IRON by Ana Padilla Copyright © 2012 by Ana Padilla. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.