A Fearless Woman

After taken out of the orphanage by her father and his wife: I looked at my mother for the first time. She was a slim woman with jet-black hair tied tightly in a bun in the back of her head. She had a short, thin nose, a beautiful complexion, but what struck me most were her dark eyes, which always seemed to be searching. My father was a short, stocky man with straight dark hair, already thin and starting to become gray. His nose was large, but most of all he looked very authoritative. I learned that my mother had to get his permission in all matters, and he would make all the decisions in the house. She understood she was a housewife. My mother was a quiet woman and did not speak much when my father was home. She was kind and gentle to me but there was no affection. Unsuccessfully, I tried to show my love for her, but her attitude remained the same the rest of her life. I wanted her love but, unfortunately, she never responded. I began to feel that no one loved or trusted me, especially after hearing my father say so many times that he wished I had been a boy, that girls were too much trouble, and that we were troublemakers. Nothing my brother did ever upset him, and he always believed him. I knew that my mother would get upset when my father beat me, but she could do nothing. He was the boss. Coney Island When Charles suggested we try the Tunnel of Love, I hesitated. I did not know what to expect. He purchased the tickets, and we were seated in a boat for two, ahead of us, and behind us were other boats in the shallow water being towed through dark tunnels. Here and there one could hear laughter and jokes about lovers, but overall, there was a romantic mood all through the ride. Charles put his arm around my shoulder, and I knew that he was going to kiss me, and I turned toward him. It was a long, beautiful kiss, and when we left the ride, we were holding hands tightly and headed for the subway. Sexual harrassment It was on the third morning, while I was standing over the trade papers with a sponge in my hand, ready to paste the clippings in the scrapbook, that I suddenly felt a hand on my left breast. I instantly swung around and hit Mr. Wilson in the face with the sponge. I screamed at him to keep his filthy hands off me, but all this time he was trying to quiet me and apologizing when the girls entered the office. Mr. Wilson immediately left for his office, and I rushed to the rest room and Mary followed me there. When I told her what had happened and that I was quitting, she explained he always tried this on new girls, but since I had slapped him, she did not think he would try again. Mr. Wilson did not come out of his office that morning, but I did see Mr. Levine go into Mr. Wilson’s office and when he passed my desk, he said everything would be fine from now on and patted my back as he left me. Perhaps it was because I had slapped him; he never made any more passes at me, but during the time I worked there, he made attempts with every new employee, and some of them quit. Others seemed to enjoy having his hands all over them.