My little sister and I climb up into Mom's rusty brown Plymouth Duster, awkward but lovable like Sesame Street's Mr. Snuffleupagus, for the dreaded back-to-school shopping trip.

Neither of us likes to shop. Mom knows that she has to entice us. So we begin the afternoon by stopping for lunch at Burger King.

Testing my newly acquired phonics skills, I ask the lady behind the counter for a "Wooper." Everyone stifles a giggle and I blush. We sit down to eat and Mom piques our intrigue by announcing, "If you're good, I have a surprise for you girls at the end of the day."

With full tummies, we pile back into the Duster and make the descent down Browns Hill Road, passing a Wendy's, a Winky's and a massive retaining wall that I imagine is part of an ancient castle. As we cross the Homestead High Level Bridge, the Homestead Works mill puffs smoke clouds that look like toasted marshmallows.

I remember how those clouds caused some of my first-grade classmates with asthma to miss school sometimes the year before. "Why is there fire in the sky over there?" I ask Mom.

"That kind of fire is good," she explains. "When that fire goes out, a lot of people will lose their jobs."

Songs from "Flashdance" play on the Duster's muffled radio. It's a movie I'm not allowed to watch, of course, but I know it's about a woman who works in a steel mill. And I know that although I don't ever want to work in a steel mill, it's a big deal that a woman can. I listen carefully to the words, Just a steel-town girl on a Saturday night ...

Steel town girls on a Thursday afternoon ... we make our way past Chiodo's Tavern in Homestead and turn left onto Eighth Avenue. Our first stop is Wagner's Shoe Store. The walls are mint green, the floors are covered in an old, but clean, white tile.

Mom insists that we can get sensible school shoes for a good price here. As Mr. Wagner measures my foot, I dream of red pumps like Jennifer Beals'. Remembering my mother's promise, I settle for Buster Browns with little tassels.

Next we go to Crill-Tog -- the uniform shop mecca for Catholic school girls. A lady with cat-eye frame glasses and a beehive hairdo measures my arms, legs, and girth.

"Try this one, hon," she says, cracking her gum. She has me try on several renditions of the same black, blue, and white plaid I'll wear five days a week for the next six years.

Mom smiles. She loves the practicality of uniforms. She probably thinks I look cute. I hate the itchy feel of the jumper and the un-breathable white butterfly collar shirts that go with them. Remembering my mother's promise, I am careful not to mutter even a single complaint.

With my wardrobe for the next school year set, we step back out to Eighth Avenue. I hear the rumble of the train. The sky is gray and threatens rain. We cross the street.

"Where are we going now?" I ask.

"You'll see."

Stepping into Goodwill is like going into an eccentric aunt's closet. It's not bright and clean like Wagner's. It's not orderly like Crill Tog. It doesn't seem like the kind of place my mom would go. We walk up narrow, creaky steps. And there sits the grand surprise -- the costume jewelry counter.

"Pick anything you'd like," my mother says.

Oh, the possibilities! My sister and I run to opposite ends of the dusty glass case, barely tall enough to survey all the wares. I pick out a ring with a gold elastic band and 20 little plastic pearls clumped on top. My sister goes for a shiny dark blue plastic gem ring with adjustable band.

We choose green clip-on rhinestone earrings and pink flamingo pins, too.

I still dislike shopping. But I still take that trip down Browns Hill Road and across what they now call the Homestead Grays Bridge to go, often with my own daughter in tow.

Instead of the slag heap to the left, there is a swanky housing development. That fortress-like retaining wall across the road still holds up Glen Hazel. The mill and its fire are long gone -- hard to believe it all was ever there.

And The Waterfront, though I appreciate its convenience and ample parking, is a far cry from Wagner's, Crill Tog and the junk jewelry counter at Goodwill.

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