This morning I had to wake up *very* early to go to U of R. I haven't had an early Saturday morning class in almost a year, so it was like old times. It was even more like old times when I had to go to the same classroom that I spent so many Saturday mornings and Thursday nights in. I presented on the paper we wrote for AERA, which was actually pretty fun.

I showed "I'm Just a Bill," so that the class had a good background to what I was going to talk about, and then I gave my presentation. It was my AERA presentation, but I didn't rush through it, because I had the time. I made sure that I was clear on some points, since they are supposed to be learning about policy and may not have been familiar with the topic.

After I spoke, I asked them for questions. They did not have very many. Instead, they got stuck on what our cohort asked about..."How long did your dissertation take to write?" This launched Dr. M into this long explanation of how to pick ones chair and the rest of ones committee. After that, he had to give them some things to discuss in order to get them thinking. It took them a while, but they finally got into the discussion. It was hard for them to discuss at first, but once they brought it out of the theoretical into the practical, they could talk. Rebeccah had come to hear me present, and she was able to answer some questions about community college and higher ed. So that was really helpful.

Overall, it was a good time. Their cohort seems really nice and knowledgeable. One of them even has a newcomer program at his school. We are going to have to interview him or at least get an in for an interview with someone at his school (once we are going to write the book).

It also made me think that I would really enjoy teaching at the university level. And teaching teachers, not necessarily teaching math. When is life finally going to give me a break and make it happen???

So, last night I went back to work after a couple of weeks off for the holidays. I had been tutoring throughout the break, several days a week. (Thank God for that, because I actually will be able to pay my bills in January.) But I hadn't taught a class for three weeks. Oddly, it felt as if I had been away for much longer.

I had mixed feelings about going back. For one, I had really hoped to be in a different job by now. I need this job--not only for the income, but because I need the health insurance. I guess I feel trapped. This does not make me a happy employee. On the other hand, I do enjoy the actual teaching part. I especially like the interactions with students and seeing them succeed and reach their goals. Still, I'm getting a little weary of teaching the same thing over and over. That's why I enjoyed the mentoring/observing and tutoring parts of my job. Sadly, the observation part of my job has been taken back by my new boss, and the company seems to be doing everything it can to make tutoring unbearable. *sigh*

Anyway, I continue to do the best I can for my students. I just hope that something new comes along soon.

Sorry I haven't blogged in a while...life has been interfering. But I decided to write tonight before it all flew out of my mind.

Tonight the University of Redlands sponsored a free screening of the documentary, "Waiting for Superman." The movie is written and directed by David Guggenheim, of "An Inconvenient Truth" fame. After the screening, we had a (too brief) panel discussion. The panel was made up of two awesome professors in our Ed.D. program and two fabulous doctoral students. They were knowledgeable and diverse in their opinions, and I really enjoyed what they had to say. Here are my gut reactions about the movie itself.

The movie's "stars" were 5 adorable children. I actually kept hoping that there would be at least one not-so-attractive child in the movie, since most children are, honestly, NOT that cute. While it was obvious from the beginning that Waiting for Superman was going to be an exercise in emotional blackmail, it was really hard not to root for those little ones.

Waiting for Superman uses statistics to back up its claims that public schools are failing. I agree that U.S. education misses the mark on many counts. However, the statistics cited in the movie do not match what I have learned in my study. For example, at one point in the movie, we are told that test scores have remained flat for many years. This is not true; test scores have, in fact, been improving. We are also led to believe that the achievement gap between poor and non-poor students is not narrowing. This is demonstrated by two seemingly parallel lines with a positive slope. However, this contradicts the earlier statement that test scores are "flat." If they were flat, then why the positive slope? Also, the articles I have read show that the achievement gap is narrowing. There is most definitely still a gap, and it is not narrowing nearly as quickly as all of us would like (think glacier), but it IS narrowing. One statement had me particularly riled up. The narrator stated how many public school students fail to finish high school and go on to college and then said that over 90% of students from the "top charter schools" attend college. I'm sure that if we chose the "top public schools" we could find the same statistic, especially since "top" is not clearly defined. Guggenheim's failure to be truthful in these instances dilutes the message of his film.

Waiting for Superman blames the public school system and its teachers for the deficiencies in American education. The fact is that public schools are full of dedicated, competent, hard-working teachers who do an amazing job for little respect, money, and resources. I go to school with public school teachers by whom I am constantly amazed. If you were to believe Guggenheim, the schools are rampant with lazy, horrible educators who do nothing but draw a paycheck, because "it is impossible" to fire them. This characterization is unfair and hurts those teachers who do such an amazing job every day. In a profession that is already under-respected, educators need to be lifted up rather than beaten down.

Guggenheim and others like him like to compare the United States to other countries. We are "behind" other countries in math and science. This alarming comparison has been used since the 1950's and was emphasized during the 1980's with "A Nation at Risk." However, these well-meaning people ignore the fact that many of the countries they like to compare us to track their students at an early age and so do not strive to provide the same type of education to all children. Of course those students do better in math; they were chosen because of their abilities. Perhaps Guggenheim should examine some recent research; even the 20-year-old Sandia Report will do.

Waiting for Superman would have us believe that charter schools are the educational equivalent of the Second Coming, with charter school founders as The Savior. However, most charter schools do not help students' test scores improve; just as with traditional public, private, and parochial schools, some are good and some are bad. One of the front-runners in our current gubernatorial race recently released a new commercial that claims she wants to increase the number of charter schools. Why? Why doesn't she find a way to help the existing traditional public schools instead? Because the candidate, like so many others, believes the charter school propaganda that is being spread.

The fact is that most students in charter schools are already ahead, as is apparent in the movie. Students in charter schools have parents who care enough about their children's education to figure out what a charter school is, where the good ones are, and how to get in. Many students don't have such parents, and thus don't have what the children in the movie have. We can't compare students who have this kind of support to the students who don't, and it's not fair to anyone to think that we can.

Two things in the movie really bugged me on a personal level. First, the movie talked about our need for quality math and science teachers. I have heard this for my entire career. However, I have never had an easy time finding work. I am intelligent, certified, educated, and experienced, and, frankly, I am an amazing teacher. And at the same time that President Obama announces his push to recruit thousands of new math and science teachers, I can't even get an interview.

WARNING! SPOILERS IN THIS PARAGRAPH ONLY! The second thing that got to me personally got me so riled up that I am still upset about it. At one point in the movie, a beautiful child sits in her windowsill, looking at the children going to school across the street. The child's mother tearfully explains that she had fallen behind in her tuition payments for the parochial school and that her daughter could not attend that day's graduation. It's a touching scene that tugs at the viewers' heartstrings. This scene just made me angry. Here's my beef. David Guggenheim, who made millions on his last movie, "An Inconvenient Truth," and yet couldn't turn his camera off, walk across the street, and pull out his checkbook so that this little girl could attend her graduation. Instead, Guggenheim continued to film the mother, with tears running down her face, for the sake of this movie. Any respect I may have had for this filmmaker was lost when I watched that scene.

Parts of this movie actually made some good points. Sadly,the good was masked by the propaganda and half-truths told by the filmmaker.

When I decided to pursue a doctorate in Leadership for Educational Justice, a very wise woman told me that she thought it was an amazing degree. "You're like a superhero!" she exclaimed. I see superheroes in education every single day, superheroes who are devoted to their students, to learning, and to educational justice. So instead of wasting my time and energy waiting for Superman, I will use my talents, education, and experience to support, respect, and work alongside with the real superheroes.

This poem is the result of two experiences I had this week.

On Monday I tutored a woman for the GRE. She is 55, White, and from middle America. She is very nervous about her test. A while into our session, she said to me, "You are very calming. Where are you from?" I wasn't really sure how to take that. Was she assuming that I was from some exotic Asian land and was bringing the inherent calming effects of my supposed culture? Or was she just asking a question? I still don't know. My answer is in the last line of this poem.

Then last night in class we actually had to write "I am from" poems. It was kind-of odd that this came up after my experience on Monday. We wrote them together, and we didn't have a whole lot of time. But after last night, I felt moved to write my own "I am from" poem.

I don't know that it's complete. I don't think it will ever really be complete. But here's what I came up with.


I am from . . .

. . . a sugar cane farmer on a far away island
. . . an owner of a fleet of fishing boards on the Pacific Ocean
. . . a man who died in an unknown village in China
. . . a devout member of a Catholic parish in Spain
. . . families torn apart by a war
. . . grandparents who dreamed of more for their children
. . . parents who saw education as a golden ticket
. . . someone who could see opportunities on distant shores

I am from . . .

. . . a preacher at a tent meeting on that same far away island
. . . a colporteur who sold books door to door
. . . a group of young believers who longed for the return of their savior
. . . a pastor who preached grace without extending it to others
. . . church members who threw me away when I was deemed no longer useful
. . . a God who loves unconditionally

I am from . . .

. . . a collective of teachers—Mrs. Croak to Dr. Lalas—who imparted me with their knowledge—and lack of knowledge
. . . a science teacher who played H-O-R-S-E with me during P.E. rather than traumatize me with team sports
. . . a vice-principal who saw potential rather than mediocrity
. . . a professor who asked, “What was it like growing up gifted?” (to which I replied, “I was?”)

I am from . . .

. . . people in a city that places youth and beauty above all else
. . . aunts, uncles, cousins, second- and third- cousins, once-, twice-, thrice-removed, who arrived one after the other
. . . a family that must answer the question, “May I speak with Dr. Repique?” with “Which one?”

I am from . . .

. . . hundreds of students, who gave me more than they could possibly know
. . . groups of dedicated teachers and students who shared their hearts on Kairos and Emmaus
. . . principals, vice-principals, and department chairs for whom potential donor dollars were worth more than people
. . . colleagues—devoted and not---who inspire me with uncountable reasons to walk into a classroom

I am from . . .

. . . an unexpected friend who challenged me to be better than I was
. . . another friend who knew how to use my gifts without making me feel used
. . . new classmates and professors who are teaching me to become a superhero for educational justice

 
Where am I from?

I am from . . .

. . . here

I was not at all surprised by the results of a study recently conducted by the Josephson Institute. You can read about the study here. According to the study,

In the past year, 30 percent of U.S. high school students have stolen from a store and 64 percent have cheated on a test.

I've had a crappy--no, shitty--past two weeks. *sigh*

My job has let me down. I had been teaching a class. It was a difficult class because of some circumstances out of my control. Frankly, I didn't even want the class to begin with. But I did my best. And they turned on me. My students never told me I was a bad teacher to my face, but they felt the need to say I was horrible and mean to my bosses and to anyone else who would listen.

The only good thing that came out of this is that I found out just how much I am supported in my classroom. Iain, Kelly, and Elizabeth all backed me up, and, because of my class's idiocy, are still backing me up--even though the course is finished. It is a far cry from having to work with JS, TM, TF, GB, and PH. I am grateful for their encouragement.

Still, the entire situation has put me in a really shitty mood. I am too old to be dealing with this petty crap. I'm a good--make that, GREAT--teacher. I'm always on time, I know my stuff, I cover all of the material IN THE ALLOTTED TIME, I support my center, I get people to come to workshops, I'm available to my students via email and before and after class, AND MY STUDENTS GET RESULTS! I do all of that, and still I'm vulnerable to the kind of attacks that I've had to endure. I'm angry and hurt and just want to cry.

And I was supposed to be happy about my birthday in the midst of this. I got a lot of well-wishes on Facebook. I was very grateful for those. I was also fascinated by who managed to forget. It was a little heartbreaking on a couple of accounts. Still, Stephen, Mesash and Ashley, and Virna all took me out for meals--on three different days! So that was quite nice. And Stephen, Chris, and Trish donated to DWC, which was really great.

Yet, my birthday left me feeling empty. I usually love my birthday, but this year, for the first time, I felt as if life has just passed me by. I was supposed to be at a different stage in my life than I am. And I'm disappointed, because I know that I'm too old for most--if not every one--of my wishes to come true. It makes me truly sad.

Last night I actually went to DWC for our monthly birthday party. The party was great, and the ladies had a better-than-usual time, thanks to Ricardo and his singing. But the party ended badly for me, due to people's lack of respect and boundaries. This is really the first time this has happened to me at the center, and it really did hurt. It was mostly due to misunderstandings, but it was not something I needed on top of everything else.

The worst part is that this cyberSCREAMing is really all I can do. There's no one home to talk to; I don't have anyone to hold me and assure me that I'm loved; even my best friends have other things going on in their lives--too much to concern themselves with my feelings right now. Sure, they can give me a few hours of their time--but, really, there's no one in my life that can give me of themselves. I'm not complaining; they have a right to their own lives and their own loved ones. It's just that I'm really sad . . .

Oh well. Back to work . . . *puts mask back on*

I've been going through the old photo albums lately. I've been looking for pictures to use at my parents' anniversary party. I went through the old family albums, and today I moved on to the more recent vacation albums. For some reason, mixed in with those were some of my scrapbooks from when I was teaching at Alemany. Looking at some of those pictures made me really nostalgic for those days. I know there were a lot of reasons to get out of the traditional classroom, and those are still valid. But seeing all of those pictures reminded me of what I loved about teaching high school--my students.

I miss the relationships I developed with my students, something that I can't do now. I mean, it's amazing how close I can get to some of them even now, but, really, they are gone after 8, or maybe even 4, weeks.

I miss the exhuberance of youth that so many of my students had. Some of them still have it, and some of my currents students do, too. But so many people I encounter now have lost that and are stuck in the rat race of their lives. When I am the most lively person in the room, something is seriously wrong in the world.

As I said, I know I'm in the right place for now, but some days I really miss what I had before. It's especially difficult this time of year, when I want to get ready for the new school year.

I'm a bit melancholy today. Ah well. This, too, shall pass. *sigh*

I've just been finding such interesting things lately!

I read this article about Texas schools that are creating ninth-grade only campuses. It's a really fascinating concept--sort-of like when we (at Alemany) decided to keep the freshmen out of the regular geometry classes because of the negative influence from the older students. (No, we didn't keep them from taking geometry; we just gave them their own class.)

Anyway, I thought it was an interesting idea. I'm not entirely sold on it, but I can definitely see the advantages. I wonder how they handle staffing, though.

Any thoughts?

I've been on a serious education kick lately. Beware if you see me in person! I may just tell you how I really feel about the educational system.

[Sorry it took me so long to finish this; I've been away from the computer for a while . . . ]


So there I was in New York City, stuck with no way to get home and no more money. A little while after I arrived in my room, I checked my email to find that the Monday morning flight I'd been put on stand-by for had been cancelled. Now I had to figure out what to do for the next day and a half. By the time I learned about the second cancelled flight, my sister had arrived back at her home in Maryland. We spent a lot of time talking back and forth and with her on the internet. She helped me calm down and stop worrying so much.

The first thing I did was call the credit card company and get an emergency credit limit raise for two days only. That done, I called my sister again, and she was looking at the websites for both Amtrak and Jet Blue. Then I called Jet Blue to see if I could get on a flight from DC to Burbank or Long Beach on Monday afternoon. I was able to get the last ticket on a flight from DC to Long Beach. Then I called my sister back, and she was still on the Amtrak site. She found a train from Penn Station to DC on Monday morning. All I had to do was figure out how to get to Penn Station. She bought me my ticket online (thanks, Sis!), and we hung up the phone at around 2am.

So now I had a plan, but I was still so traumatized that I had a hard time sleeping. I was also scared that I would oversleep and miss my train. I managed to sleep for a couple of hours, but I wasn't really sure how long it would take me to get to Penn Station. So I got up and checked out of my room and took the hotel shuttle back to the airport. Oh yeah. Did I mention that the hotel had a shuttle that no one told me about? Yeah. That entire taxi nightmare could have been avoided. *sigh* Funny thing. While I was sitting in the hotel lobby waiting for the shuttle, a pilot from another airline checked his airline's website on his iPhone and found that HIS flight had been cancelled but no one had bothered to tell him!

Back at JFK, I found another taxi stand, but it was nice and closed up. A traffic/security guard saw me and took pity on me. I must have looked pretty pitiful. He motioned for me to follow him and led me to the famous phone bank. He dialed a number and said, "Just tell them your last name and where you are. They'll take care of you." It was a car service that charged exactly the same as a taxi, AND they'd take my credit card. Soon the driver arrived, after I'd had to wave off the errant taxi that tried to get my business. "Just ignore them," the guard told me. So I did.

Driving through New York in the very early morning sure is different than driving through New York at rush hour. Still, the traffic doesn't ever seem to end. It took a while, but we finally made it to Penn Station. The driver felt sorry for me when I explained that I really was catching a train. It turns out that I arrived with two hours to spare before my train left. I got a snack and some drinks and sat down in the waiting area to read my book. Turns out that Amtrak has a nice waiting area for its customers. Everyone else has to sit on the floor.

My train arrived right on time, and I boarded the train with no problem. The train is a lot more comfortable than a plane, though of course it takes a lot longer. It also costs about the same or maybe even more than a plane ticket. The train made some stops, but not so many to make the trip annoying. I was even able to sleep for about an hour and a half, something I really needed. About halfway through the trip, a man boarded the train and sat next to me. He didn't say much to me until he heard me talking to my sister on the phone. Then he had to hear the whole sordid story, which I didn't mind telling. He told me something that Steph had said--that this was happening for some reason. He also added that maybe I would be missing a big earthquake by getting home late.

After about 3 hours, I arrived at Union Station in Washington, DC. My brother-in-law Ed was even there to meet me. We took the Metro to Silver Spring. Wow! Their Metro sure is a lot cleaner than the subway in New York! The trip didn't last all that long, which was good. We got to the Metro stop and went outside. Almost immediately my sister drove up! The day was getting better. We dropped off Ed at work and then headed back to get some food. We went to a local Chinese restaurant and ordered some food, then headed to CVS to kill some time while we waited. Our food was soon ready, and we went back to the house for lunch. I sat in the easy chair, ate good food, and rested. Thank God for big sisters. I felt so much better. I watched TV, printed out my boarding pass, and looked at pictures of Annie.

Soon it was time to head to Dulles Airport. I was actually scared. But we got to the airport with no problems, and soon I was headed toward a very long security line. Oddly, however, when I approached the end of the line, a security officer waved me through to a station that had no waiting, and I was through in a matter of seconds. I had to take a shuttle to my gate, but I was soon sitting at the gate and actually had quite a bit of time to kill. I checked my email on my phone. I would have read, but I had already finished my book while in the train station. I wrote in my museum journal and then went to get some food. I found a place that had customized salads, but I bought a sandwich from them instead.

Finally, after a day of waiting, I boarded my plane to Long Beach. Since I had gotten the last ticket available (at least that's what the Jet Blue agent had told me), I had a middle seat, but even that wasn't too bad. The first thing that I noticed when I finally got settled was that none of the TVs in our row was working. All we had was static. The guy sitting in the aisle seat asked the flight attendant about it, but she gave us some vague answer and was really no help at all. He asked her again once we were in the air, and she was again no help but offered us cocktails to make up for it. I had no interest in a cocktail, but the man next to me sure thought it was a great idea. Over the course of the flight, he indulged in 5 cans of Heineken, though he did have to pay for most of them. I didn't really mind,except that by the time the plane landed, it smelled like I was in a brewery.

The reason that I didn't make a big deal about the TV was that I had planned to sleep for most of the trip home. Unfortunately, the baby across the aisle from us didn't think that was a very good idea. He decided to scream at the top of his lungs for most of the trip--loud enough to wake me out of a sound sleep every half hour or so. I think that's one of the reasons the man next to me kept drinking so much. After about 3 hours of trying to sleep, I gave up and worked on my advanced math workshop for the rest of the time--even though my advanced math workshop was going on in Pasadena without me!

The plane finally landed without incident at Long Beach. Then we taxied for a reeaaallllllllllyyyyyy llllllloooooooonnnnnnnnngggggggggg time. And once we got to the gate, it took even longer for them to open up the doors and let us out. People were getting really hostile, but I was just SOOO happy to be on the west coast! Pop was there to meet me when I got off of the plane, and soon I was home and sleeping in my own bed!

One of the interesting things about living in L.A. is the famous people that one sees randomly. For example, last month I spotted Eva LaRue shopping at H&M in Glendale. I've been a fan of hers since she was on "One Life to Live" a gazillion years ago. And, of course, there was the time I sat in a jury waiting room with Ian Ziering. I blogged about it here.

Teaching in private schools in Southern California is interesting, too. One tends to run into well-known people or people who are connected to well-known people. (By the way, it is this latter group that is more annoying than the first.) So I could relate a little to the scenario in this article from the L.A. Times. I've met people who work at Oaks Christian, and I can only imagine that teaching there is similar to working at other private schools. Anyway, since most of my readers are from not-here, I thought you might get a kick out of life in La La Land.

So I found this article today while avoiding work. It totally cracked me up. Isn't education funny? And sad . . .

I love my job at Kaplan, but I'm not making very much money there, and I really do need to be making a lot more. So I decided to answer an ad I found online for an adjunct algebra instructor at a local vocational school. It was only a part-time job, so I thought it would be a good way to supplement my income. I sent off my resume and did not hold my breath.

I soon received a call from a recruiter in Kansas City, who asked me a bunch of questions and promptly set up an interview (here in North Hollywood). After having the campus change the day on me, I arrived at my interview on time. So I was very disappointed to have to wait nearly 30 minutes before my appointment met me. I met with the Academic Dean of the campus, and I have to admit that I did very well. I was intelligent, articulate, and competent. I was told that the position of algebra instructor had actually already been filled, but that the school was looking for someone to teach general math in the near future. I figured that I'd hear from them whenever and didn't expect much.

So I was very surprised when I received a call from the recruiter, telling me that he needed my references right away. In the days that followed, I received phone calls and emails asking for my official transcripts and, finally, offering me the position of adjunct instructor. An appointment was made for my orientation, and I was welcomed to the company.

I arrived on Monday and was eager to get to know my surroundings. Unfortunately, I soon found that my optimism was misplaced. The administrative assistant was rude and ill-informed. She didn't know the rules of filling out an I-9 and tried to act as if she did. She gave me a huge stack of papers to read and sign. She planted me in the teachers' lounge and made copies of my driver's license and social security card--and then managed to leave 15 copies of each in the copy machine for anyone to steal my identity. I was very angry about this, but I tried to hold my temper, since it was my first day.

Then came the orientation. I thought that this would include more pieces of paper and possibly some introductions to important personnel. Instead, I was handed a phone list (not a map) with several names highlighted and told that I needed to speak with these people and have them initial a checklist. I wasn't really sure what I was supposed to talk with all of these people about, and, as it turned out, most of them didn't really know either. Some people were very nice, but some told me they were just too busy to talk to me. Some were not in their offices at all. After getting about 3 signatures, I found myself so frustrated that I had to leave. I tried to express this frustration to the administrative assistant, but I was told that I could just come back to finish. In addition, I was told that "You get paid for it anyway," as if that made my annoyance OK.

It was sometime during my exasperation that I considered walking out of that place and not coming back again, but I decided that would be bad form. I probably should have followed my instincts.

I returned on Wednesday to finish my orientation. Well, at least, that's what I hoped for. When I arrived, everyone was really happy to see me--frighteningly happy. I soon learned the reason. Turns out that the algebra teacher they had hired wasn't working out, and they decided to fire him. They wanted me to start immediately and sent me downstairs to meet the class right away. I was glad to start earning immediately, and I wasn't at all nervous about the class. After all, it was just beginning algebra, so it shouldn't be that hard. I was asked to come in a couple of times a week to tutor, for pay, of course, and I agreed.

I taught my first class the next Wednesday, and the class went well. The students were, for the most part, attentive and seemed eager for some sort of stability. The nightmare began after the class ended. My class had 27 students and lasted for 4-1/2 hours. I was to give homework and a quiz at each class meeting. I found out after class that I was also expected to turn in what we essentially deficiency reports every week and a class summary after each class period. Oh, and by the way, they would only pay me for one hour per week over my class time for prep. Not only is this annoying and stupid, but it is also illegal to give me all of that work and then refuse to pay me for it. Again, I contemplated walking out, but I decided to stay for the duration of the class.

I was actually in New York for the next week of class, but I heard from the school while I was gone. They had scheduled me for several hours of extra tutoring per week, which I would get paid for. Was the money worth the hassle? I'd soon find out that the answer was no.

The next few weeks were sucked up by this place, even though I thought I was only going to work 5 hours a week. It was horrible, and I found myself becoming more and more resentful by the day. I was overly joyed on the last day of class, and even that turned into a stupid thing.

The last day of class was the final. However, because of their dumb system, I was required to keep the class in the room for the full 4-1/2 hours, no matter how long the test took. This was annoying in and of itself, but I dealt with it. I also decided that since I had no intention of returning to the school from hell, I would finish my grades before I left for good. Because I was nearly done with grades by the time class was over, I decided to tell people what their grades were. And there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Not really, but a few did fail. Those that did ran straight to the dean's office and blamed their low grades on the instability and not on their inability to learn algebra (or even on me, for that matter). So I got a scolding for that. The dean told me that "next time" I wasn't to tell them their grades. Sorry, lady, there won't be a next time. She said it was better to let them get their grades in the mail. Nut job.

Funny thing. As I was getting ready to go, the associate dean came rushing over to me to get me to sign my contract for the next class, which was to start in June or July. I almost laughed in his face. But instead I told him that he needed to speak with the dean. I had already told her, but I followed up with a very nice email a few days later. True to form, she did not respond, and I wasn't even sure what my status was until I received my final check a couple of weeks after that.

So that was my brief stint as an adjunct instructor. Guess it just wasn't meant to be.