Everybody has an Achilles heel. Everybody.
Even the most brilliant people I know – some of whom are former students
– have an area where they just are not as confident. Mine has always been math.
Over the years I have joked with my students about how I
always do grades and all math on a calculator or computer. It’s the truth. When I have important statistical reports
that I need to prepare, I do the math, and then I take it to our school’s
calculus teacher, and ask him to check my numbers. I am humble and he is kind, as well as
generous with his time. I do math when I
cook - halving or doubling recipes. I
can balance my checkbook and proofread my paystub. That’s about it, folks. And, I have always covered up my math
deficiency with jokes and extreme proficiency in other areas.
In considering pursuing a second master’s degree, I was
going to apply only to a school that did not require any testing. Then, as Murphy will tell you always happens,
I found one that I really want to apply to that requires the GRE. I signed up to take it on December 20, being
relatively confident because I took this test 24 years ago and did well enough. Friday afternoon I took a diagnostic test online. Results:
95% in verbal; 0% in quantitative reasoning.
I am not joking.
I texted the results to my eldest son. His response:
“That’s bad.” Same text to middle
son: “No problem. I’ll teach you.” Same text to a friend who is in the middle of
applying to med school: “Give me a book and two days, and I can teach you
everything you need to know.” Same text
to my sister: “Are we even related?”
Later that night after drinks with friends, I reflected upon
this result and I became very sad. The
kind of sad that call forth tears whenever the topic flits across one’s
mind. Middle son asked me what was
wrong, and I said (in typical middle school girl fashion): “I’m stupid and it makes me sad.” He responded (in typical now-I-will-be-the-parent-for-a-minute
fashion): “You’re not stupid; you can relearn this math because you once knew
most of it.”
Rewind to 7th and 8th grade. It always stuns people when I tell them I was
in accelerated/honors math in junior high.
In fact, it still surprises me. I
remember the room – up and around the corner from home ec and woodshop. I fondly remember the teacher: Mr. Page.
Love that man. I don’t remember
what we learned. I don’t remember how on
earth I was in “smart” math – pretty sure some money changed hands on that one. At any rate, I trundled along in math –
getting As and Bs as best as I can remember.
I preferred humanities, but I could hold my own in math.
Enter Mr. Anderson – if there is a teacher who should have
never been allowed in a classroom, it is this man. He was a very tall balding blond man who sat
next to his overhead projector, drew angles and talked. Geometry was not my friend. Still, I went in after school. I tried to get it. I attempted the proofs. Then the day came: I was in his room, ostensibly getting help,
and he became exasperated with me. I was
at the end of my rope trying to get whatever the concept was that was eluding
me, and he was at the end of his trying to explain it to me. As he packed his briefcase, getting ready to
go coach basketball, this was the sentence that ended my math career: “You know, you’ll never really get math
because you’re a girl.”
I should have been taken aback, horrified, enraged. I should have reported this overt sexism and
lack of professionalism to the principal or my parents. I should have taken this statement as a
personal affront-turned-challenge and excelled in every level of math,
eventually becoming a world-renown rocket scientist or economist or
mathematician. I don’t know what – if anything
– I said to him. What I do know is that from that moment until today, December
8, 2013, I gave up. I did not report his
comments to anyone; I did not take them as a challenge; I was not mad. I had been given permission to give up, and
so I did. I have bachelor and masters
degrees, and the last time I took a math class was my junior year in high
school.
I have a student in Russian class this year who frequently says, "I'm not good at languages." It's not true. She is doing well, and she has the best of reasons to be in the class: to one day talk with her birth mother. Motivation. I have a friend who is just out of college who defends her
perceived weakness in English with such light-hearted phrases as, “I can’t
write; I’m an engineer.” This isn’t
true, and I know because I taught her in Advanced Language and Composition in
high school. In fact she can write – it
may not be her favorite thing to do. She
may feel she is stronger in other areas; she probably enjoys sciences and math
more, but she can write. She just finished reams of med school essays.
The same is true of me.
I may have forgotten most algebra and never truly learned geometry, but
I can learn some now. I am motivated. I can do math. As
we enter the holiday season, I hope you don’t have to take standardized tests,
but I do hope that you are thinking about challenging yourself. Sure, we all have areas that we accept are
weaknesses and that’s that. But, there
are other areas where we might sit up and take notice. We might think about learning or relearning
something for our own edification. In
the end, wouldn’t that be a better way to spend time than watching cat videos
or reading all of those internet lists?
So, what are you going to learn?
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