Debt or Alive

This week my ENG 100 classes have their final reading assignment--a government report on the state of student loan debt nationally. The report cites some staggering figures. About 2/3 of students who earn a Bachelor's degree take out student loans in order to pay for it, and the average amount of debt per student is roughly $25,000. I went to a rather expensive private liberal arts college for my B.A., but I did not graduate with quite that much debt. This was in large part due to a very generous scholarship the college offered me, which covered about 2/3 of my expenses. In other words, I was lucky--I mean, I worked hard to earn that scholarship, but still, I was lucky.

When I moved onto graduate school, I was not as lucky. For my first three semesters, the only financial aid I received was through federal loans. I needed these loans to cover tuition and living expenses. (I was teaching part-time, but that only brought in about $2,500 per semester.) For the remainder of my program, I was able to obtain funding (a tuition waiver and a modest stipend), but the damage was already done. I'm not going to broadcast the exact figure of how much I owe, but I will say that my monthly student loan payment is higher than my monthly car payment--and odds are, when my car dies some 100,000 miles from now, I'll still be paying back those student loans.

Was the debt worth it? For me, it was. I am currently a tenure-track, college English professor, which is exactly what I want to do with my life. If I hadn't taken out the loan, I probably couldn't have found another way to get here. But for others, I know, who have taken out similar loans, the results have been different. Jobs like mine are not plentiful these days, and many people with PhDs in English can only find part-time (poorly paid) employment, without benefits. It's such a big gamble to take on big-time debt when you're not sure what the job market will look like post-graduation.

I don't have any easy answers to offer my students on this topic, but I hope our discussion will get them thinking--if they're not already--about the challenges and risks that lie ahead as they contemplate where to go after DCCC and how to pay for it. I just hope none of them take out a variable interest rate loan from Citibank to pay for tuition at the University of Phoenix. From what I hear, I think that might be the worst possible decision.

I Fixed the Lawnmower

For all my students who think writing is "just not their thing," here's a little tale of hope.

Tinkering with mechanical doohickeys is not my thing. When faced with the challenge I'm about to relate, I tried to think back and remember the last time I fixed anything that involved several moving parts. I couldn't come up with anything. I did put together a bicycle that I ordered in the mail around 2006 or 2007, but I did a horrible job of it. When I later brought it to a bike shop for a tune-up, I got laughed at.

Three weeks ago, Yuriko's father (Bob) was visiting from Maryland, and we were talking about how the grass needed mowing already because of the early spring. He asked if I had changed the oil in our little Troy-Bilt self-propelled mower. "You have to change the oil in a lawnmower?" I thought. I doubted that I was anywhere near 3,000 miles with the thing. But apparently changing the oil in a mower at least once a year is a good idea.

Bob, who is a semi-retired electrical engineer for NASA, is, as you might imagine, a vastly superior tinkerer. He showed me, step-by-step, how to take off the blade, drain the old oil, put in the fresh stuff, and put everything back together. He always does these things in a spirit of nonjudgmental helpfulness. Never do I get a hint of "If your not man enough to change the oil in this mower, how are you man enough to live with my daughter?" from him. I am grateful for this.

After Bob left, I started the mower up, and quickly there were 2 bad signs: smoke billowed out of the engine and the self-propulsion feature was not functioning. The smoke was not a big deal--apparently we put a little too much new oil in, but this quickly burned off. Why the mower wouldn't "go" when I asked it to, however, was a more perplexing and troubling question (especially for someone like myself with little to no mechanical intuition or experience).

After consulting Bob via email, I learned that the belt had likely come loose from the pulley while we changed the oil. After taking off the blade again, I could see this was the case. I could not, however, see how to access the front pulley to put the belt back on.

Bob sent me several emails of encouragement and advice over the next couple weeks, and finally--this past Sunday--I found the time to undo every bolt I could find until I could get at that front pulley. Eventually I got there, put the belt back on, and reassembled all parts. I was relieved there were no leftover bolts lying around. I was pretty convinced I would forget where something went.

The mower started up and moved right along--success! I felt quite a surge of pride, even though this was a pretty simple accomplishment. This is all to say that succeeding at something that you're not "naturally" good at can be a very empowering, rewarding experience.

An Unhealthy Debate

This week the Supreme Court heard arguments about the constitutionality of so-called "Obamacare," officially known as The Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act, which was signed into law in 2010. The issue at the core of the debate is whether or not the U.S. Congress can mandate that all Americans purchase health insurance or pay a penalty (which may or may not be considered a "tax"). The idea behind the mandate was that if all Americans have to buy health insurance, insurance companies can charge lower premiums for everyone--even those who are chronically ill or have "pre-existing conditions."

Most critics of "Obamacare" think the government is overstepping its bounds, and that the market for health insurance should remain unregulated. I, too, think the individual mandate is a bad idea, but for different reasons. I think it is a sign of the government doing too little, not too much. By forcing all Americans to buy health insurance, the government is putting even more money into the pockets of insurance companies who profit off people's illness. What I wish the government would do, instead, is to do what nations like Britain and Canada have done--create a single-payer system in which we all pay a health-care tax and are thus all covered. I'd much rather have the money I pay now for health insurance, which goes to a private company, go to a government agency, as long as that agency could really deliver decent health care for all Americans, regardless of employment status, age, sex, or past health. Since that agency would be operating for the public good--not for profit--one would expect that it would be less expensive and more accountable to those it serves (i.e. voters). Also, one wouldn't have to worry about losing one's health coverage if one lost one's job.

If "Obamacare" does get struck down by the Supreme Court, I hope Obama can--in his second term--find the political will and capital to pass something more ambitious, not less. Rather than coercing citizens into filling the pockets of insurance companies, he should show us that truly socialized health care can be more economical and effective in promoting the nation's health than the troubled status-quo.

A Tale of Two Floridas

For the first time ever, I traveled someplace warm during Spring Break. (Little did I know that it would actually be quite warm at home while I was away.) Yuriko and I went to the Florida Keys, and we had a fabulous time. Here is a list of some of the highlights:

• Sandspur Beach -- Located in Bahia Honda State Park, this beach is simply gorgeous. Aside from a few sand fleas, it was perfect. I was a little worried that my super-pale-senstitive skin would be burned beyond repair, but covered in SPF 50, I was able to soak up some sun and live to tell the tale.
• Great Seafood -- Yuriko and I both love to eat sea creatures, and we sure indulged last week. Nearly every place we dined had fresh mahi mahi (which they call "dolphin" -- not to be confused with regular dolphins, which are super-intelligent mammals, not tasty fish) and grouper. We also had some great shrimp, oysters, and even sushi.
• Bicycling -- We rented two bikes and rode out on this really long bridge (about a 2 mile section of "Ye Olde 7 Mile Bridge"). This was easily the most scenic bike ride I've ever taken, surrounded by endless, clear blue water on both sides. Here's a picture of us on "Pigeon Key," where the bike trail ended:

• Great Weather: 80 degrees and sunny each day; 70 degrees and breezy each night. Only significant rain we saw was on the day we left.
• Wildlife: Our last two nights we stayed at a bed and breakfast on Big Pine Key, which has a nature preserve to protect an endangered species of small deer. We saw one particular deer hanging out on the beach all the time, and I was able to take several pictures of it. Also saw this cool little lizard.

All in all, a great trip -- we can't wait to go back next year. My one issue was that I didn't like spending so much time in the rental car. The car was perfectly fine, but I wish there was a train or monorail or something that you could take to the keys from the Miami airport, and from key to key.

While my personal little trip to Florida was blissful, I--like many others--have been profoundly disturbed to hear the news coming out of Florida this week. Nearly a month ago, on February 26th, an unarmed, seventeen-year-old black teenager, Trayvon Martin, was shot and killed by a self-appointed "neighborhood watchman" by the name of George Zimmerman. While Zimmerman claims he shot this kid in self-defense, there seems to be little reason to believe that Martin could have posed any kind of a threat to him or the community. The local police, however, failed to investigate or file charges against Zimmerman. As far as I know, Zimmerman is yet to face any charges or even have his gun license revoked. Many community members locally and protesters nationally have been calling for Zimmerman's arrest. It looks like the U.S. Attorney's Office and the FBI are now looking into the case, since the local police obviously did not do much. I'm hoping to get my English 100 students talking about this case this week, and following it in the weeks to come.

A Distracted Mind

Last Thursday, as the temperature approached 60 degrees (in February!!), I was excited to go on my first bike ride of this alarmingly early spring. I put my bike, which is still super-dirty from riding around in post-flood mud last fall, in the back of my Nissan and drove to the parking area at the end of the Union Canal trail outside of Reading. I took out the bike, pumped up the tires, locked up the car, and started off down the trail.

After a couple hundred feet, I suddenly became conscious of a disturbing contradiction between two things I had just done: I had hidden my keys under a floor mat in my car and I had locked all the doors. Not only was that exceptionally dumb, but I had even thought to myself, while locking the doors, something along the lines of, "I better lock the doors so no one steals my keys." Clearly, the beautiful weather had utterly dismantled all logical cognition in my brain.

I stopped my bike in the middle of the trail, turned around, and pedaled back to the car, just to make sure I had really done what I had done. Yup -- all four doors locked, keys inside. Also locked inside the car were my cell phone and wallet. What could I do? I decided to ride my bike to Penn State Berks (only about 2.5 miles away), where Yuriko Beaman--the love of my life--works. Luckily, as over-worked as she is, I caught her at a moment which wasn't too terribly disruptive for her. She generously agreed to lend me her phone and her car and to permit me to store my bike in her office. I was then able to get back to my own car and call roadside assistance. An hour and twenty minutes later (!!!), a "rescue ranger" showed up and finagled his way into my car.

One more thing to pile onto this heap of foolishness -- I realized I had never had a spare car key made. Before calling roadside assistance, I scrambled through my things at home looking for one. Then I realized the key I was hunting for was actually the spare key to my old Nissan. (Two days after this incident I had a new spare key made. I'm also planning on buying a little pouch to stick on my bike seat so I can take my wallet, keys, and phone with me on future rides).

Why blog about this? Well, I'm hoping it's amusing, but additionally--and more importantly--I'm hoping that publicly writing about this moment of personal idiocy will exorcise whatever unthinking spirits invaded my brain last week.

Alaska Highway

I owe this to my ENG 100 students who, a couple weeks ago, all wrote personal essays and shared them in class. The prompt I gave them was this: Imagine yourself at an interview for your dream job. You are asked, "Tell us about a personal or professional obstacle that you have had to overcome in the past." 

Every semester, the day my ENG 100 students read these narratives aloud to me and each other is an awesome day. This year, my Thursday evening section called me out on the fact that I was the only one not sharing such a story. I told them I'd write one and put it on my blog, so here goes.

One of the hardest personal and professional things I've had to overcome was my decision to drop out of a Master of Arts in Teaching (MAT) program when I was 22 years old. The program was run by the University of Alaska Southeast (UAS), and my particular cohort was located in the incredibly small and isolated village of Sitka (population 9,000). I had expected to be in Juneau, which is a little bit bigger of a town (31,000) and the state's capital, but somehow I got shifted to this branch campus. Sitka, like most towns in southeast Alaska, is not on the "road system," and so you can only leave town by ferry or airplane. When you're in Sitka, you're in Sitka--there's no driving anywhere else for the day or the weekend. 

How did I end up there? After graduating from Bard College in 2002, I decided I wanted to do something practical yet adventurous. I knew I wanted to be a teacher, so I thought, "Why not get credentialed to teach, but do it someplace crazy?" I had heard that Alaska was stunningly beautiful, and I thought it would make a great backdrop for my one-year Master's program--teach and study during the week, explore the wilderness on the weekends.

The disappointments were many. First of all, there was the climate. It rained at least 75% of the days I was there. When the sun came out, Sitka was one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen. But I think I saw about 10 sunny days in 3 months (five of which were the first five days of August--that week I remember fondly). 

Secondly, there was the program itself. Most of my classes were taught by local school teachers, not professors, and they were, on average, dreadfully under-stimulating. In addition to the classes, we were expected to teach 4 out of 5 days per week in the local schools to satisfy our "student teaching" requirement. Although I had been looking forward to this hands-on aspect of the program, I quickly learned that this was more about exploiting us as unpaid labor than about gaining useful experience. The "mentor teacher" I was placed with was a bitter, insecure, burned-out woman, who only wanted to talk about how much she yearned for retirement. When I was teaching, she would interrupt me. When she was teaching (if you can call it that), I was making copies of "busy-work" assignment sheets for her.

It wasn't all bad, however. Many of the other graduate students in the program were awesome people, and we quickly bonded (as people often do when thrown together in absurd situations). One woman, Larissa, was engaged to a salmon fisherman, Clay, who generously took us out in his boat. We camped on a neighboring island and hiked a dormant volcano one memorable weekend. Another friend, Sabrina, who was from a nearby town--even smaller than Sitka--and a native Alaskan (member of the Tlingit people), shared some of my own literary interests, and we've even kept in touch to this day. 

There was also the salmon. I had never been really into seafood, but I realized that the fish in Alaska is profoundly superior to anything you will eat back on the east coast. There is nothing quite like eating grilled wild salmon from a fish that was swimming in the ocean earlier in the day.

These positives were not, however, enough. Every day that I marched into Sitka High School, I felt a little more depressed. Class sizes were enormous. Resources were limited. There were some great students, but many--if not most--felt like compulsory education was a waste of their time, because they had no expectation of going to college. My classroom was not my classroom, and my "mentor" was unsupportive. It was a bad situation all around, and I longed for a way out.

One day, when I was out in Sitka Sound on a borrowed kayak with my friend Bob, the clouds parted and the sun poured its rays down upon us. I felt the cells in my body come alive, and I realized I hadn't felt such an exhilarating sensation in weeks. Sitka had been depriving me not only of light, but of life. As hard as it was for me to admit a mistake, to admit that I had wasted time and money, I knew I had to quit, otherwise I would just be wasting more time and money.

That night, I began packing my things. I checked the ferry schedule and looked at a road atlas of Canada. I was plotting my way home.

My biggest fear was that this experience would ruin teaching for me. Luckily, that didn't happen. I decided I didn't want to teach in an under-funded public high school. I decided I didn't want a Master's degree in teaching. But I knew I still wanted to teach. I just needed to find the right place.

After applying for, but failing to get, a job teaching in private boarding schools, I decided that it made the most sense for me to pursue teaching at the college level. After all, I was happy when I was in college. I loved the culture of intellectual and artistic freedom at my college, and I knew I could carry that spirit to whatever college would hire me. The only down side was that I would need to spend about 6 years earning my PhD. Looking back, it seems odd to say, but I think my 3 months in Sitka felt almost as long--maybe even longer--than my 6 years at the public university in upstate New York where I earned my doctorate. Most importantly, that 6-year investment was worth it, because here I am. It's certainly better, after all, to spend 6 years climbing a ladder that takes you where you want to be, than to spend 1 year climbing a ladder that takes you to a place that makes you want to call in sick every day.

Jose Antonio Vargas and Camilo Mejia

For the third consecutive semester (Summer 2011, Fall 2011, Spring 2012), I'll be discussing Jose Antonio Vargas's article, "My Life as an Undocumented Immigrant," originally published last June in the New York Times Magazine. I find the essay to be a moving, thoughtful, and provocative "coming-out" story, as artful as it is courageous. Typically, my students tend to be impressed both with Vargas's writing and with Vargas himself, as he disrupts common stereotypes about who undocumented immigrants are and convincingly relates the psychological effects of living a life that is, by necessity, always partly a lie. He argues in the piece for the passage of the DREAM Act, which would make it easier for undocumented immigrants who were brought to the United States as children--and educated here--to earn their citizenship without temporary deportation. More profoundly, though, the essay re-conceptualizes citizenship as something that ought to be "earnable" -- as something that one does, rather than something one is.

In ENG 112, starting next week, my students and I will be discussing Camilo Mejia's memoir, Road from ar Ramadi, which documents the author's experiences in the early days of the Iraq War, through his decision to resist his redeployment and join the antiwar movement. This book, I am fairly certain, will provoke some complex reactions. While many of my younger students may have little memory of why exactly the U.S. got involved in Iraq, or how things got so messed up there, some of my other students may have actually served in the conflict themselves. Whatever one's opinion on Mejia and his resistance (I think he, like Vargas, is a man of great moral courage), his book raises several important questions: Should soldiers have the right to walk away from a war they believe is unjustifiable? Is it possible to be antiwar and still support the troops? Does patriotism necessarily mean supporting America's wars?

I don't expect to convert my students to my own left-leaning, pacifist politics, but I do hope these readings provoke a good deal of critical debate.