Work Search Requirements
My dad hated work before hating work was cool. His first job in the United States was as a clerk at the San Jose Department of Motor Vehicles on Alma Street. It was 1975 and the position paid $6 an hour. When he became a driver’s license examiner, he earned a few pennies more. Though he was hired for his Vietnamese, he couldn’t keep up with needing to speak English to the DMV’s majority white clientele. Meanwhile, the Vietnamese test takers couldn’t drive. Still, they insisted he pass them anyway, citing compatriotism over common sense and safety.
Tender Excavations: Retelling Origin Stories in Adoption Narratives
As an Asian American, the incessant insistence of the question “Where are you from?” often followed by “No, where are you really from?” can be so exhausting. In the poem, I can finally confront this question and push back. Tell a different story.