Terese Marie Mailhot: My dedication to all those 'rez chicks'

I used to be the rez chick, pushing a bundled baby down a gravel road with a stick to ward off dogs. I used to be the rez chick dropping off my baby at subsidized daycare to study for my GED. I used to be the single Mom on the rez, bumming for rides to buy formula, and then calling my ex to ask why he never helped out. I used to be the rez chick who thought, if only the tribe would hire me, I could have a secure life.

People looked down at me when I lined up for my check on Welfare Wednesday. People looked down at me at the local shopping mart when my baby fussed. I survived off of chocolate bars from the gas-bar on the rez. One a day kept the pangs away. I was Rez. All my clothes were from Wal-mart; all my son's clothes were from Wal-mart, and none of my dreams were any larger than making 20,000 a year.

My sister, who had five kids of her own, had to bring me around town to pick up diapers and wipes. It was her I cried to when I asked, what do I do without a man in my son's life? What do I do alone? She told me to hustle and get over myself. And, I did.

I got a job in the white town next to the rez, a highly segregated area. I worked at the local pharmacy. I also waited tables. I biked every day to work, because, although I had a car, I had no license. My car was only good for rez-cruises to the gas bar, where tribal police often shook their fists at me, telling me this was the last time I could drive around without a permit. Those jobs ended as soon as they came when I realized minimum wage wasn't worth getting off welfare for. I technically made more on subsidy and social assistance.