scott-50301738 @scott-50301738
I was born in 1944 to a working-class family in Detroit. Growing up during World War II, I was surrounded by the sound of factories humming and the smell of welding smoke wafting through the air. My parents worked tirelessly to support our family, my father as a machinist at the Ford Motor Company and my mother as a seamstress at a local textile mill.
As I entered adulthood, I found myself drawn to the same industries that had defined my childhood. I enrolled in a vocational program at a local trade school, where I learned the skills necessary to become a welder. It wasn't long before I landed a job at a nearby shipyard, working alongside other women who were also trying to contribute to the war effort.
I was proud of my work, and the sense of purpose it gave me. I was proud to be a part of something bigger than myself, something that would help bring an end to the war and allow our country to heal. And so, as I stood on the assembly line, welding together the steel plates that would become a crucial part of our nation's defense, I felt a sense of pride and fulfillment wash over me.
But it wasn't just about the work itself – it was also about being a woman in a man's world. I remember feeling like an outsider at first, like people didn't know what to make of me or my skills. But as I proved myself time and time again, they began to take notice. They
