The American Dream

I have seen the dewey fruition of the American Dream-- the grand, glowing catharsis that is all that this country wishes to be and the perfect example of our can-do spirit.  I have been there, and you can go there, too.  This is Laughlin, Nevada.  But let's be precise:  American Dream is not in Laughlin, it is Laughlin, perched in neon splendor upon the Colorado River.  

But this post is not about Laughlin and why it is the American Dream-- that post will have to wait until I perhaps visit there again (and, great God, how I want to visit that mystical place again).  No, this post is about something I saw today, something I experienced first-hand, fully-immersed in the experience but always the constant outside observer.  Today I saw not the American Dream, but the clawing, fighting, brutal struggle to achieve it, against all odds, through hellish circumstance, desperate attempts to plant personal flags in the fertile soil of our national mythology.

I went with my friend and roommate to Delgado Community College to keep company while she registered for the upcoming semester under the assumption it would take 30 or so minutes.  It did not-- it took hours.  First we stood in a long line a swelteringly hot room-- these people directed us to another line, even longer, located in a hallway.  Upon reaching the front of the hallway line, we were told there was a problem, we could not be helped by these people; to go stand back in the original line.  We stood there (it was shorter this time), and upon reaching the front, were directed to a computer where we filled out some online forms.  Then we went back to the line, stood in it again for some time, and at the front were handed an index card with the number 26.  There were 100 index cards potentially awaiting circulation-- as we tried to find a seat they called number 93.  Thus queued, we waited in the sweltering hot room for one tired woman to process the 32 people ahead of us.

As not a post about Laughlin, Nevada this is also not a post about inefficieny, but instead about the people I witnessed and watched as I waited in these lines.  Everyone seemed to be undergoing similar troubles, hopping about between these long lines and waiting in this oppressively hot room, and yet... the grumbling was almost non-existant.  Yes, of course, there was some overheard here and there in snatches of cellphone conversations and drifting from our own mouths, but over-all... none.

Here were people waiting patiently in this glorious unpleasantness to better themselves, and damn grateful for the opportunity.  Here were people struggling to gain the rights to a piece of paper that would allow them the wages necessary to live in their houses, to drive their cars, to pay for the daycares for the children they were forced to bring with them on this particular day.  Here were people looking to learn a trade in plumbing or welding, to become a teacher, to become a nurse; to learn actual skills apart from the useless liberal arts, things more important than English literature or film studies.

So I watched these people standing in lines attempting to do what, as Americans, we are trained to do.  To improve ourselves, to reach for the stars, to do better in this life than our parents ever had the opportunity to do.  Isn't that the American dream.

A close friend of mine told me some years ago that she could explain the ills of our generation, and I think she made quite an argument.  Modern American society has always been about outdoing our parents, about being richer and more successful than they ever could, yet, our parents reached the pinnacle.  It's impossible now to do better than the parents that run the country, to be more successful or richer than the partners, CEO, politicians who form the upper-middle class that define America.  They've tapped out, leaving their children awash at liberal arts colleges without point or purpose, lethargic and broken.

And I agree with that, for the stereotypical America about which it's written.  But as for the real America?  The one that doesn't run the country but keeps it running?  It is far from the truth.  There is still room for betterment and improvement.  The American dream still exists for the average American, who, as privelage washes down from the upper classes and out amongst the general population, is finally getting a chance.