"They Can't Break Mom's Spirit"

I can't resist posting this photo of my friend, Kasia, and me, even though it's not the most flattering of me. I wrote about her visiting me from Oregon a couple of weeks ago. She snapped this photo of us with her cell phone and it's precious to me, because I can now look at her image whenever I choose to. I think this picture shows some of the ravages of the cancer in my face, but Kris said he sees something beautiful in it. He sees the aging, yes, but he tried to describe that he also sees some of the girl in my face, or perhaps the girl I once was. She's still inside, somewhere. She doesn't come out often, probably because I won't allow it, but at odd times I feel her presence and I realize she'll always be there, always be 16 or 6 or whatever age that feels appropriate in the moment. When I am in love with a man, she presents herself as an eager 16 year old again, wanting to start all over with the hopes and dreams of a girl. And when I am hurt, the 6 year old sometimes comes out wanting to be petted and nurtured or...throwing a temper tantrum that only a little child can do.

This was a very difficult week. I told my friend, Glenn, that I can live with cancer, but I don't do well with being sick. I realized even as I said it that the statement makes no sense whatsoever, but it's the truth as I know it. I don't enjoy poor health. Even if I'm confined to a mostly sitting position I prefer to feel good and alert and well enough to want a sandwich when I'm hungry.

Bobbi worries if I don't eat and I had tried to convince her that I will not die if I do not eat eat for 2 or 3 days at a time. My nurse explained that the cancer is actually devouring two-thirds of the food I am eating, so that I am not getting that much nutrition even when I eat with a hearty appetite. I think Bobbi now feels more comfortable when I don't eat.

Because I was not feeling well I watched several movies this week, one of which was a documentary that I rented on Netflix called Harlan County, U.S.A. Kris had urged me to watch it several times. It is the story of the 1973 coal miners' strike in Harlan County, Ky, and highlights the struggles of families living in shacks with no indoor plumbing and enduring hazardous working conditions and hunger because of low pay. The film details the conflict between the Eastover Mining Co. and the laborers determined to join the United Mine Workers of America. It's a film I highly recommend to those who are part of the working class and struggle with the same resentments I had throughout my working years. It's actually an inspiring look at what solidarity among individuals can accomplish, making the specific point that the American workers are not as helpless together as we are alone in combating poor pay and/or working conditions.

Unions, created as a protection for American workers and once strong and powerful are now almost a thing of the past. In 2006 union membership nationwide was 12%, down from 26.6% in 1973. In 1945 unions enjoyed a membership of 11,674,000 people, or 33.9% of the trade workers. This was during World War II, a time of unprecedented patriotism, and included industries like Convair in Ft. Worth, Texas, where we lived and my Father worked. Actually, we lived in a duplex in Liberator Village and my Father worked at the mile long assembly line built by Vultee (Consolidated Aircraft) out of San Diego, building war planes. My mother was even employed there for awhile, working with blueprints for some parts of the airplanes. As a little girl I remember the entire family standing outside a fence watching as the Convair B-36 Peacekeeper Bomber was rolled out of the hangar for presentation. "The largest bomber ever built was designed in 1941 and a prototype was ordered a few days before Pearl Harbor. The aircraft (without the 4 jet engines which were added to later models from the D version on) flew for the first time on August 8, 1946. Because it went into production just after the War and coincided with the appearance of bombers completely equipped with jet engines, its production was limited to 146 units. These formidable strategic bombers were in service until May 1958. Toward the end of their useful life, they were used for atomic experiments." http://www.fiddlersgreen.net/AC/aircraft/Convair-B36/B-36.php

Of course, hourly workers like my father were patriotic during the war years just as everyone was, yet they still suffered, as I did all the years I worked, from poor wages and often extremely difficult working conditions. I remember standing at my Daddy's knee hearing him talk about the union at Convair and how they were on strike even during the war where he worked. He talked about scabs and how dangerous it would be to cross the picket line. I was too young to understand the details of that conversation between my parents, but I knew it was serious and I knew he was worried. I had a feeling then that he wanted to cross that picket line because we didn't have enough money to buy much, but he was afraid of the union members if he did. I also remember that Daddy hated that job and Mother complained because he got some write-ups at work because of his attitude. He must have been miserable at Convair, because my dad was one of the most congenial men I've ever known and I could never imagine him with an attitude problem. In 1956 and 1957 Jim, my ex-husband, also worked at Convair on the assembly line. He also hated Convair so much that he quit working there by the end of 1957.

I found an interesting article about Liberator Village, where we lived in the duplex apartment during the war years. This can be found at http://www.wsmuseum.com/WHSETL.html

Now, in 2007, hourly workers have fewer protections than ever, with unions having very little power or control over a laborers' working conditions. Unions are responsible in large part to loss of membership, due to their own corruption. Now with the advent of outsourcing more and more of our trade jobs to foreign countries, the working American will be offered only service jobs, such as kitchen help in restaurants, in hotels as maids and baggage handlers, and maintenance and housekeeping jobs for individual companies. White collar workers are being replaced by technology. The demise of clerical workers, such as I, is already in progress, with many of the jobs being outsourced or the supervisors being expected to do their own work on personal computers. Any progress for laborers that was made by unions is now becoming a memory, and without the solidarity of the American working force creating a movement against unfair labor practices and outsourcing, it seems that the resentment I felt and my father felt before me, will continue and grow stronger in numbers of the working poor.

So it was the salaries and working conditions that created so much of the tension and resentment I felt during my middle years and seemed to take so much from me and my family. Increasingly dissatisfied with the state of my life, however, I eventually made some changes that set a new course for my life.