Yesterday Jodi and I went to USF for the orientation session that they made her attend (at a cost of $15 or so) before she could register as a first-time-on-campus student. It consisted mainly of lemonade and cookies as a procession of speakers introduced each other in a circle-jerk of not feeling too bad about having spent thirty years of their adult
lives becoming the associate dean of campus programs.
We then waited in a cold (63F/17C) auditorium lobby, on metal chairs, at a metal table, to speak to her academic advisor -- who never showed up. (I *knew* we should have had Gamaliel do it -- he's the Harry Tuttle of academic advising.) The World Language Education department didn't send anyone to tell its students what classes it recommended. It turned out there was a reason
(cows were out of season, and one of the hunters, well, he wasn't insured) -- uh, NOT channeling Tom Lehrer, the reason was that their department had
gotten slightly damp when a water main burst -- but they could have at
least arranged for something, I'd think.
We eventually got one of the organizers of the whole sorry affair, who happened to be an adviser herself, to hook her up with the Holy Grail of
registrants: two courses, meeting at separate times during Summer B, that
would actually do some earthly good to an incoming student who already has
92 credit hours and none of her departmental requirements. True, one of them
is by permit only, but it *is* a class for nonmajors: Theatre History I
(http://www.ugs.usf.edu/sab/sabd.cfm?SABtable__PREFNO=THE3110) . Never
mind the whole "let's read fifteen plays during a Summer B class" -- it
counts.
So tonight we went to Hillsborough Community College for one of her last two courses, Child
Development. Which actually turned out to have been a case of arrested
development, since the class was cancelled for low enrollment -- but the
Telecourse then filled up before she could walk across campus to register
for it. She ended up in Intro to Music (MUL 1010), and the teacher didn't seem to mind me sticking around -- but I've got to meet our firewall guy
here at 8:30, then pick Jodi up at 9:25.
(Yeah, here's my schedule MTWR for the next six weeks: wake 6:30, work 8-4:30, cook and eat dinner 5-6, take Jodi to 6:30 class, pick Jodi up from class at 9:25, go to sleep at 10 or 11 depending on whether chores or sleep seems more urgent. I'll try to get my employer to let me work 10-4:30 and 7-9pm, but we'll see about that.)
And you know what, folks? She's worth it. She just got formally diagnosed with a learning disability in mathematics, over and above the brain weirdness that you get for free with cerebral palsy, and yet by working 30 hours a week on her Math for Liberal Arts class, she managed to earn a solid B. She's amazing.