When Miguel Marin got laid off from his residential construction job Jan. 14, it didn't come as a total surprise. His hours as a glazier, a craftsman who sets glass, had been gradually cut and there was some talk the small company was in big trouble, like most of the construction industry locally and nationally.

"They were kind of preparing us, but it finally happened in January," the 30-year-old man had said in late February, after he and his wife, Leonor, 28, walked their fourth-grader, Miguel, and second-grader, Emily, the block from their home to Nativity School on an early Friday morning. "You never think about it until the last moment, when you have nothing to bring home.

"It's hard to acknowledge what just happened, you know," he confided. "Because you're used to a certain way of life. And then the kids start asking, 'Why are you home?' You can't sleep at night because you start thinking, 'What am I gonna do next?'"

Feeding a bottle on that February day to their then-seven-month old youngest child, Samantha, Leonor reported that her husband losing his job had been difficult for her entire family.

"We've had to cut down on food," she said. "Like, I just have to buy a little everyday and to see what we're going to eat. I save more milk for the baby by cutting down on other things.

"Also clothing: I don't buy shoes no more for my other kids, and sometimes I ask for stuff for school. I'm worried about taking care of my children and the house."

Their three-bedroom, one-story home with its $1,300 monthly mortgage payment, in fact, is the Marins' major concern. During the last eight years, they've never missed a payment on the 30-year-mortgage. But they wondered how much longer they could kept that up.

In February, the family's other big worry was keeping Emily and Miguel in Nativity School. Because of partial scholarships from the Catholic Education Foundation, the total tuition payment had been reduced to $107 every month this school year. But after Miguel was laid off, they had fallen behind paying even that amount. And although the parochial school said being late with tuition was no problem, the parents were still anxious their kids might have to go to local public schools.

"Since I went to public school, I know it's really hard to get a good education there," Miguel pointed out. "Because there's no discipline in the classroom. I even got jumped by gang kids when I was 15 at Manuel Arts High School. They took my wallet in the bathroom.

"So I don't want my kids to go through that," he said in a louder voice. "Plus, it's a better education here. They're teaching them to believe in something that is good."

Leonor nodded as she rocked Samantha in her arms. "The faith, and then less students," she said. "I think the teachers are more focused on the kids. But if we have no choice, I might have to take them out."

Back in February, before Miguel started getting his unemployment checks, the Marins were living off their savings and the $400-a-month rent check from Leonor's father, who lived with them. Times were definitely tough, but the couple could still talk about a few good things that had resulted from Miguel being out of work.

The young father could walk to school with his wife and their kids every day. And their daughter kept telling her daddy, "Now we have more time together to play."

Still out of work
Today, nearly three months later, Miguel still hasn't found work. He even went back and applied at the two Taco Bell restaurants he'd worked at starting in high school. But his old bosses were gone, and he never even got a call for an interview after filling out applications.

But with Miguel now receiving unemployment checks and the rent from his father-in-law, the family has continued to make mortgage payments on time and only were late with May's tuition at Nativity.

"My dad said, 'Don't worry. I'll try to help you,'" recalled Leonor recently. "But he's not going to be helping us always. I probably won't have the total amount for tuition until the beginning of June. I don't know."

Moreover, the family has had to cut down even more on meals. "I cook one food for two days: rice, beans, eggs," she says. "But me and my husband make sure that the kids have food first, even if it's rice, beans and tortillas."

Trying to reduce utility bills, the Marins have been careful about using water, gas and electricity.

And whenever they take Samantha out in the neighborhood, they collect cans and bottles. "We recycle all that," said Leonor. "That brings in only a little income, but something is better than nothing. So when we go walking with the baby in the stroller, we take a bag and we pick up cans."

The industrious inner-city parents, however, are even more worried now about keeping up house payments, tuition and other regular bills. And, worse of all, nine-year-old Miguel knows the predicament facing his family.

"My son was asking me, 'Where are we gonna live if we lose our house?'" Miguel, Sr., recalled. "He came up to me and said, 'Are we gonna go under a bridge? Where are we gonna go?' And his eyes became watery. He breaks our heart because he's realizing what's going on."

Leonor agreed. "It makes me feel depressed sometimes," she said. "But I don't want to be thinking too much about it because I don't want to be like that around my children. My husband is the same. Sometimes he's sad and worried about what's gonna happen. But I tell him as long as we have rice and beans to eat, don't worry.

"We pray that we have food each day," she added. "And we go Sundays to Mass and try to give thanks to God that we're living. We're healthy and we're together with the kids. And we still have our house, a place to live."

'I can't pay'
During the 2008-09 school year, Sister of Notre Dame de Namur Judith Flahavan, principal of Nativity School, has seen a dramatic increase in the number of families, like the Marins, who are having a harder and harder time paying monthly tuition bills, even when their sons or daughters are receiving partial scholarships. Since last August, more than 20 families couldn't pay on time, and some 25 parents have reported losing their jobs.

"They come in and they just tell you, 'I can't pay,'" Sister Flahavan told The Tidings. "And it's very hard for them because there's nothing really they can do about it. And it's hard for them to find other work after they've lost their job.

"But, of course, we don't let any family go, and I don't think any principal does under these circumstances," she reported. "We just work something out, depending on the income of the family. Some are more poor than others."

The veteran principal believes the economic meltdown can affect parents psychologically, especially with feelings of insecurity because they can't plan for the future. But she's thankful Nativity students are sensitive to the plight of their classmates.

"Nobody here even considers anybody different because everybody's relatively poor," she pointed out. "It's something I've noticed, and it's kind of nice. Nobody would ever make fun of anybody if they didn't have the best shoes or the latest video game. I guess there are certain things that other people would think they don't have, but they don't even know that. They're not ambitious about things, which is good."

For 28 of his 35 years as a priest in the Los Angeles Archdiocese, Msgr. Timothy Dyer has worked in inner-city parishes. Since the late '90s, he's been the pastor of both Nativity and nearby St. Columbkille churches. And the number one problem of his parishioners today is unemployment.

"They're anxious. They're worried about their families. But they don't get depressed or blame themselves," he said. "I think there's resilience here. They just acknowledge things pretty matter of fact."

Msgr. Dyer wasn't surprised to hear that the Marins - even with their Depression-like situation - didn't blame their creator.

"Unlike my generation, the people here don't lose faith in God; they don't blame God for this or any other crisis," he said. "It doesn't happen too often that I hear that. They just kind of say, 'You know, God's going to take care of us.'"

After a chuckle, the pastor observed, "I'm always kind of blown away by the capacity they have to suffer and adapt. They don't come complaining, not to me anyway. They'll come and tell you that they're having a hard time, and they can be pretty down about it. But they don't actually complain.

"They're not blaming anybody. They don't come and blame the government. They don't come and blame God."