For Love of Country - Military Policewoman www.silvaredigonda.ca

“You have to gain five pounds. 130 pounds is the minimum required weight. Those nails…” She stared at my hands in disgust. “Gone! And your hair…” she hissed, “must be short.” At the time, my dark mane reached to my buttocks, and that is how I had always worn it. When I was a child, my mother braided my hair or pinned it up. She told me that when I was very young I had cut one braid, forcing my parents to cut the other side to make it even. After that, never again, only trims to keep the ends healthy. Peter had refused to cut it all at once. “It would be too much for you my dear. We will cut it in stages. That will be much better for you. Oh my, such beautiful hair… why?” I continued to stare at my new image and wanted to cry. After spending the remainder of the afternoon with Sally and Rebecca, that evening I stayed home to be with my family. It was my last night before leaving for the Armed Forces. “You will write once a week, at least,” my father instructed. “Yes Daddy,” I responded. He loved to be addressed as Daddy. He hated Pops, tolerated Father and Dad, but cringed and hollered upon hearing the term “Old Man”, whether it was directed at him or not. “On the first day of each month you may phone…” he continued, “… and you better make it in the Armed Forces!” At eleven that night my last telephone call came to wish me luck. It was Twig. She was slightly older than I and we had been friends for a while. Her mother owned a delicatessen and I remember sleeping over at her house and stuffing myself with pastries. We always had fun. Twig married young and was unhappy about it. Her husband played in a band and wore makeup. She was afraid that he enjoyed the makeup a bit too much. After exchanging promises to write, we[…]” Excerpt From: Silva Redigonda. “For love of country : military policewoman.” www.silvaredigonda.ca