I'm in love with my math teacher.
He is a God in my eyes, and I must tell the world of his wonders!
HE HAS BEEN ABLE TO TEACH MATH TO ME !
I remember the first time I saw my mother cry on my account. I was in the 3rd grade, I think. Whatever grade you're in when you learn your multiplication tables. We called them "times tables" back then. Anyway, for as long as I can remember my brain has rejected numbers in any form. So the multiplication table thing was torture for me. I was even more exasperated because I did so well in any other subject. Well, I devised a plan to pass my "times table" test, and resume my post on the smart girl throne. Way back in the 14th century when I was 8 or 9 years of age the local insurance man gave out multiplication charts. They were printed on a small card with his advertising information on the other side. (In hindsight, that makes no sense. I could not purchase insurance when I was in the 3rd grade, so this ad was wasted on me and the other kids in the neighborhood. But, I digress.) It didn't take me long to give up any hope of memorizing the card. I decided to use it to cheat.
That's right folks, I began cheating in the third grade. I remember it plainly. My mother quizzed me on the 6's and 7's. I read from the card, which I held under the table, but still in sight. She said, "Great! You're ging to ace your test!" I thought to myself, "Yep, I sure am - thanks to Mr. So and So insurance Co." And pass it I did - Much to the suspicion of my teacher. She was not as easy a mark as my mother. Damn! Busted.
When I got home my mother called me into her room. She was lying down and I could tell she had been crying. Oh Jesus, what have I done? She asked me shy I had cheated. I have no idea what I said. I was so worried about how I had ruined her life and made her cry. (As an adult I know she was probably crying about some shit that had nothing to do with me cheating!) But it worked.
I never cheated again, and I never understood a damn thing about math. I was never tutored and I floundered miserably throughout middle and high school. I was more than happy to get that "D" at the end of every semester. No teacher ever said, "Maybe you need some extra help", my parents never put two and two together (maybe they couldn't count either), so they never said "this kid needs help in math."
My hatred/fear of math influenced the classes I took in high school and in college, the major I chose and many other choices throughout my adult life. When I returned to college two years ago I decided to tackle math again. I failed. That was a huge deal for me. I had never failed a class in my life. But, somehow I got over it. I decided to take the course over, and I'm glad I did.
This quarter everything changed. A light went off! A beam of light appeared through the darkness! I've been redeemed! I understand math! I like math! Math is great! This wondrous change in my life is due to my math instructor and the Lord Jesus himself. My instructor is great. The rest of the math rejects in my class, and I love him because he teaches us like we have no idea what he is talking about. He explains it to us as if it's the first time we have heard or seen it. Which is great because we don't and we haven't. I love him.