Life on the Outside of the American Dream

These are the hardest columns to write, the ones where a person’s frustration and desperation come pouring out at me--and I know there’s not a thing I can do about it. What makes this one even tougher is that I don’t think she even expects me to do anything for her. I think she just wanted someone to talk to.

Her letter had gnawed on me since it arrived a couple weeks ago. I tossed it aside and retrieved it. I stuffed it in a drawer and then dug it out and put it back on the desktop. I wanted to dismiss it but never could. Why does someone with a college degree, she wrote, augmented by a substitute teacher’s certification and various other professional credentials, have so much trouble finding a decent job? That’s what she wanted to know. And how, she wondered, does she keep her head above water in the midst of such stress?

We met one morning this week as rain altered Orange County’s normal sunny skies. We retreated to a small table in the rear of a doughnut shop in Orange, she pouring out her heart, but not in a self-pitying way, and me reduced to cliched responses. “I want you to get some idea of what kind of person I am,” she said, handing me her resume, as well as examples of her and her three children’s poetry and creative writing. “I also want to show you what kind of kids I have,” she said. “I’m not raising any dummies.”

This is who she is: She’s 43, Chinese and a single mother raising children aged 11, 13 and 15. She and her husband separated in 1988 but haven’t divorced. She thinks he’s in Colorado or, possibly, Japan. His child-support payments dried up almost two years ago, she said. She has a pretty Chinese name but prefers that I call her an Americanized “Faye.” Faye Little.

“I just want a neutral party to make a judgment of the situation,” she said of her protracted job hunt. “My opinion is my opinion. I could be biased.”

And then she unfolded a tale all too familiar. She has credentials but can’t land a good job. She suspects people are put off by her nationality and accent but can’t prove it. The gamut from unemployment agency to job interviews to waiting by the phone is driving her nuts. Sit around for hours to get a 10-minute interview, she said.

And then there’s the loneliness. “I do not have relatives here,” she said. “I do not have friends. There is no one I can call when my car breaks down in the middle of the street.” I asked why she hasn’t made friends in the eight years she’s been in Orange County or during her student days at Cal State Fullerton, and she wasn’t sure. It just hasn’t worked out that way, she said, pointing out that it’s not that simple for her to trust people and that it’s hard to socialize when you’re raising three children.

She wondered why someone won’t give her a chance at a good job, find out what kind of person she is. She feels demeaned by some of the things she’s applied for but said she will take almost anything. Her degree is in art but she also passed the state test that allows her to substitute teach. She’s gotten all of two days of teaching call-ups, she said.

While we talked, it occurred to me that she doesn’t sound self-pitying. Anguished, yes. Frustrated, definitely. She may be wrong about the discrimination she senses, but even that doesn’t sound whiny.

Are you feeling desperate, I asked her. “What do you think?” she said. “I have three kids. My father sent money to support me for so long. I was really hoping as soon as I got out of school, I do my best to locate employment, so I can have money coming in to relieve his burden.”

In Taiwan in the 1980s, she said, she and her now-estranged husband ran an “American language center.” She handled much of the planning for the business but said that none of that seems to matter now because no one here can verify it. Recently, she said, she was turned down for a simple clerical job. “Could you imagine,” she said sadly, “this $7-an-hour-job, I couldn’t get it?”

She believes she would be good working at a center where other immigrants try to assimilate into American society. In the meantime, her latest call for work was to an Italian restaurant for a waitressing position.

Last Sunday in Taipei, her father died. “Let me explain to you how I feel,” she said. “Today [Thursday] is the first day I could talk to someone without crying. Spiritually, he and I are like twins. I understand him. I understand what he had to endure.”

Her father lived in Taiwan when it was under Japanese control. He finished only six grades and spent a lifetime in jobs beneath his intelligence level, she said. That’s what she means, she said, by being his twin and understanding him.

“I live my life now to honor him,” she said. “He inspires me in such a profound way that I feel if I give up, if I really let myself go, if I just allow myself to drown in depression, I feel I would be really hurting him. He was the only support system I had. He wrote constantly, at least once a week for eight years. Every problem I encounter, he always gave me very logical suggestions. He was such a wise man.”

I told her I couldn’t help with her job plight, and she acknowledged as much. “The reason I finally sent a letter to you,” she said, “was I feel there is no place to vent my anger, my grief at how cold and uncaring this social system is.”

She apologized for “overwhelming” me.

We separated, with me carrying a couple thoughts back to the office. The Orange County economy is “back” and many of us are as close to the American Dream as is practical to get. That said, let’s remember people like Faye Little, so close and yet so far from their dreams.

We shook hands and said good-bye. I went back to my job and friends; she drove off in the rain, still wondering who in the hell would give her a chance to prove herself.

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Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821 or by writing to him at the Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or by e-mail to dana.parsons@latimes.com