Super Saturday

And now last but not least, the follow is a retelling of the same CADC rejection story, told from Kevin’s perspective this time.

Six hours remained until the CADC roster would appear on the website.

...Ok, just kidding.



I drove back up to NorCal with Trung Thursday night for Breakthrough’s first Super Saturday of the year. On Super Saturdays, Breakthrough students and teachers reunite for a day of workshops and simply chilling. The one this past weekend was open only to the seventh graders, and the theme was “The Road to College Starts Now.”

The morning before everything started, I was a little bit nervous. I felt that I had probably let a lot of students down because I never kept my promises of continued contact or updating my Breakthrough blog. I wasn’t too sure if it’d be awkward between me and some of the students.

Fortunately, it seemed that some of the students were just happy enough to see me. I got to catch up with a lot of students that I missed, including Timmy.

While I was out playing with the kids (more like, running around aimlessly trying to stop the kids from kicking basketballs and throwing frisbees at each other’s faces), the other teachers were gathered around some steps chatting (as how I’m sure they weren’t supposed to be). Trung told me that they all agreed that I looked like a bigger version of a Breakthrough student.

Of course, that brought me back to questioning whether or not I’d be a mature enough teacher for Breakthrough. Earlier during the Super Saturday, a girl named Belinda was grappling tightly onto my arm, and I only tried to shake her off playfully. A good teacher would’ve set his foot down and sternly declared, “No.” During a tour of the college campus we were at, Timmy and I were in the back making Asian FOB jokes (“THEE SHOE COT FIVE DOLLAH!”). A good teacher would’ve, well, obviously not done that.

Of course, it was all that that the kids love. It was why they demanded that I come back next summer. I’m all fun, but the truth is when my class is nothing but fun, kids don’t learn. And that, in the end, is the ultimate way of letting them down.

I told the seventh graders, “I’m still thinking about whether or not to come back next summer!” but, after having carefully deliberated for the last three months, I had already known the real answer.



You were an all-star student, but I still need to apologize. I know I failed you a few times this summer.

In one of my writing classes, I had a student named Mickey. When it came to writing essays and completing homework fully and correctly, he was my best student. But despite his academics, everyone fucking hated him.

I didn’t blame them. He would often shout out his answers and interject a bunch of comments that would steer the discussion a totally different direction. And he definitely didn’t refrain from saying anything sexual either.

The thing is though is that pretty much EVERYBODY in this class misbehaved as much as he did. The only difference is that all my students were against him. I had this other student named Ngo who was even more socially awkward than Mickey, but whenever Ngo shouted something out, such as his annoying attention-whoring catchphrase, “WHAT THE FBLBLBLPH!” the students would laugh it off. Whenever Mickey shouted something out, even when it was actually an insightful and correct answer to a question that no one else knew, the students, including Ngo, would jump down his throat. “SHUT THE HELL UP MICKEY!” “NO ONE LIKES YOU MICKEY!” One time, it escalated so much that this one girl (who also happened to be one of my worst students) got up in his face and raised her fist. I had to physically intervene for that one.

I tried several different ways to discipline my class. I threatened that I would kick out the very next person who tried to start any kind of trouble and that I would also kick anyone who reacted and fed the flame. It’d work for like two minutes until Mickey would say something inappropriate and then all eight other students would yell out. I couldn’t kick out all of my students, so I only kicked out Mickey. To which, of course, my students cheered. And when I did kick any other student out, that student or other students would protest, saying, “This ain’t fair! You’re just being nice to Mickey!”

I should’ve brought the directors in, but I didn’t. I had a sense of pride that prevented me from doing what I should’ve done—my job, but, beside the pride, I knew what it all came down to: I just wanted to be everyone’s friend.

I heard from another teacher who heard from Mickey’s grandma that at home, he always yelled at his mom. He cursed her, ignored her, and simply refused to be nice to her in any form, to the point that she would break down sobbing her eyes out. I couldn’t ignore the fact that there was probably some correlation. I blamed myself.



Nine months of working at SCORE! Educational centers and two summers at Breakthrough; I’m still not mature enough to be a teacher. I need to grow. I’ve known for a long time now that when summer 2010 comes, I won’t be there at Breakthrough anymore.