Jason's Story
Copyright© 2025 by writer 406
Chapter 35
Two days later, Jason’s phone buzzed as he merged onto I-5 North, heading toward Everett.
“Hello, this is Jason Stone.”
“Hey, it’s Richard. Just wanted to wish you luck with the meeting.”
Jason appreciated the gesture, though he suspected Richard was also checking to make sure he was going.
“Thanks. I have to admit, I’m not sure what to expect.”
“Dr. Ramirez is good people. She’ll be direct with you about what’s possible and what isn’t. Just be honest about what you need to make this work.”
“That’s the problem—I’m not entirely sure what I need. Community college seems different from what I’ve been doing.”
“That’s why this meeting matters. You and Patricia can figure out together what makes sense. But Jason, one thing: don’t undersell your history credentials. She needs to know you’re not just a life skills guy.”
“Good point. History is my first love. The survival classes grew organically from conversations with students, but at heart, I’m a historian.”
“Perfect. Lead with that. Talk about your novel, your dissertation work, your passion for teaching historical complexity. The life skills component will be more credible if it’s clear you’re a serious academic, not just some motivational speaker.”
After hanging up, Jason continued north through increasingly gray, rainy weather. The drive gave him time to organize his thoughts about what he actually wanted from this meeting.
The truth was, while he was skeptical of getting involved in another bureaucracy after the Seattle school district disaster, he was desperate for a mission. Writing satisfied part of that need, but he missed direct engagement with students. His weekend classes were rewarding but not enough to challenge him.
The Everett Community College campus was larger than he’d expected—multiple buildings spread across what looked like thirty or forty acres, with parking lots that suggested significant enrollment. Not the urban density of Seattle, but substantial infrastructure that spoke to serious institutional commitment.
Patricia Ramirez met him at the administration building entrance, extending her hand with a professional warmth that seemed genuine rather than performative.
“Jason, thank you for coming. Let me show you around before we meet with my vice president.”
The campus tour was brief but informative. Patricia pointed out the technical training facilities—automotive, welding, nursing labs—alongside traditional academic buildings. Students were diverse in age and ethnicity, many clearly working adults fitting classes around jobs and family obligations.
“We serve about twelve thousand students annually,” Patricia explained. “About sixty percent are working toward associate degrees, and forty percent are here for professional development or workforce training. The average age is twenty-six, but we have everyone from eighteen to seventy.”
They entered a conference room with windows overlooking the main campus quad. A thin man in his late forties who radiated nervous energy stood as they entered.
“Jason Stone, this is Dr. Mark Webb, our Vice President of Instruction. He oversees all academic programs.”
Webb’s handshake was firm but brief, his expression neutral. Jason immediately recognized the type—an academic administrator who’d probably been a solid professor but was deeply uncomfortable with anything that might disrupt established processes. Not necessarily hostile, but definitely a gatekeeper.
“Please, sit,” Patricia said, gesturing to a conference table rather than the more formal arrangement of desks and visitor chairs. Jason appreciated the choice; it suggested collaboration rather than evaluation.
Patricia pulled out a legal pad and began without preamble. “I’ll be direct. Richard Albright is enthusiastic about your work, and after observing your Saturday session, I understand why. You’re teaching cognitive frameworks and systems thinking in ways that most students never encounter in formal education. The question is whether you can make that work within a community college structure.”
“What are the constraints?” Jason asked.
Webb pulled out a folder with the careful precision of someone who’d prepared extensively. “Curriculum approval process, accreditation standards, faculty credentialing requirements, budget limitations, and political oversight from our board of trustees.”
“So basically, all the institutional factors that made my high school program difficult?”
“Similar challenges, different context,” Patricia acknowledged. “But community colleges have more flexibility in many ways. We offer non-credit community education, workforce development programs, and experimental courses that don’t require the same approval process as degree-bearing curricula.”
Jason leaned back, assessing both of them carefully. “What are you proposing?”
“That depends on what you’re interested in,” Patricia replied. “Richard seems to think you should develop a comprehensive life skills program. But I’m not sure that’s what you actually want.”
The observation surprised Jason with its perceptiveness. “What makes you say that?”
“Because when my daughter asked you questions after your Saturday session, you talked about history as much as practical skills. And you write historical fiction. That suggests someone whose intellectual interests are broader than just teaching teenagers how to balance checkbooks.”
Jason found himself relaxing slightly. Patricia was actually listening rather than just pitching an opportunity.
“History is my first love,” he admitted. “The survival skills classes grew from conversations with students about real challenges they were facing, but my academic training is in history. My dissertation was on labor conflict resolution in the late nineteenth century. I’m working on a second novel about World War I.”
Webb looked genuinely interested for the first time. “What aspect of World War I?”
“It’s a love story set against the backdrop of a war that introduced industrial slaughter to human warfare. It explores how that affected both the men who fought and the folks at home. A love story is a good way to view a war. All war is tough on lovers.”
Webb’s skepticism seemed to soften slightly. “We don’t currently have anyone teaching that kind of nuanced twentieth-century history. Most of our instructors focus on survey courses—broad overviews rather than deep analysis.”
“What would the ideal teaching track look like for you?” Patricia asked, pen poised over her notepad.
Jason had been thinking about this question for days. “Two tracks. First, legitimate history courses—maybe American History and History of the Twentieth Century—that explore historical complexity rather than just memorizing dates and events. Courses where students learn to think like historians, analyzing sources and understanding how history has shaped the present.”
He paused, organizing his thoughts. “Second, a non-credit life skills program open to all students and potentially community members. Not for academic credit. Available for anyone who wants practical education in financial literacy, decision-making, conflict resolution, and career planning.”
“Why not for credit?” Webb asked, his tone more curious than challenging now.
“Because the subject matter needs flexibility. Students come with real problems: family financial crises, relationship conflicts, career uncertainty, legal issues. My teaching responds to those actual challenges, not to a predetermined curriculum. It’s adaptive rather than prescriptive.”
Patricia exchanged glances with Webb. “That’s going to be harder to justify to the board. They prefer measurable outcomes, defined learning objectives, and assessment mechanisms.”