My father probably never studied much for anything in his life.With photographic memory and a penchant to just get it, I guess he never had to.
He holds a degree in Civil Engineering from the Mapua Institute of Technology, what he calls the MIT of the Philippines. I swear it's not just him; it's widely regarded as the best engineering institution in the country.
As is the trend with Pilipinos, his degree didn't really translate when we moved to the US. He parked cars for minimum wage at the Marriott in Downtown Los Angeles. What he would receive in tips my mother used to put food on the table every day. From Anaheim, he would catch three buses to get to LA. On late nights, if he missed the last bus to take him from the Fullerton Park and Ride to Lincoln Avenue, he would walk.
After the parking stint got tiring, he started working at Commerce Casino. He started off as a chips runner, then worked his way up to be floorman at the casino's top section. His job required 8 hours of continuous standing and walking around, sometimes fighting with patrons who've had a little too much to drink but hadn't raked in enough winnings. Celebrities roamed that floor constantly, and he would share to his awestruck children who among Jerry Buss, Manny Pacquiao, and Bruno Mars would tip the least. That job, too, paid minimum wage, and when the economic crisis hit, people stopped giving out tips and going to casinos in general.
One fateful night, his fraternity brothers from Mapua came to Commerce Casino to look for him. These men, unlike my father, had struck it big in the Philippines (mostly, I assume, by sticking to elected officials). They offered construction projects for my father back home - enough, really, for him to quit his miserable job altogether.
He's there now, trying to start anew. From scratch. From nothing. Nothing really came out of his American Dream. All this bullshit that if you try hard enough you'll get to where you wanna be. It doesn't really exist.
