Of all of life’s challenges the one that has frustrated and thwarted me the most is math. Already in a class that was halfheartedly taught by the principal, stuck behind, feeling inadequate I thought it would all end badly. A principal who sees fit to give us an assignment and then leave to do other more important things. Leaving a motley group of students already behind and struggling, some with serious delinquent urges, alone with their math test. The others are cheating, but my overactive conscience will not allow that. Then out of nowhere my mom picks up my algebra book. I remember how to do this she says, nearly 25 years since her last class. A moment of hope grew inside as her agile brain deciphered the incomprehensible jumble of numbers and letters. Impossible I thought how can she simply look at this and understand.
Frustration slowly turned to comprehension as she patiently explained the inexplicable. Admiration grew mixed with envy as this all came so easy to her while I had struggled so long to understand the place that letters had in my formulas. Hope triumphed as somehow my mom’s loving guidance showed me the way through the darkness that could have otherwise consumed my fragile teenage confidence.
The most important part is that my mom never let me feel like I was inadequate. Instead of doing the assignment for me she allowed me to discover the important concepts in my own time. Her supportive style of teaching surrounded me with warmth and comfort that banished the fear that I would never understand the problems before me. Such a marked contrast to the principal who left us alone to try and climb the math mountain without the proper tools. She assisted me to the place within myself that believed I could be successful. The feeling of accomplishment when I passed was truly a credit to my mom and lessons learned far beyond the algebraic formulas.
