I never came kindly to the subject of Math. Math was always about constant rote memorization, full of extensive redundant notes that always found their way stuffed into the folds of my notebook never to be seen again. I held onto this impression the entire duration of ninth grade. However, upon a simple happenstance of acquiring the right math teacher with a different approach to math, I became increasingly aware of my previous errors in thinking. Everything was not as unyielding and tedious as I thought it was. Experiencing a teacher with a powerful new perspective altered my rigid frame of thinking, allowing me to excel in math.
At the beginning of ninth grade, I was slowly recovering from clinical depression, a cruel, brooding disorder that makes one feel as if they would be content with drowning in the endless unforgiving abyss of the ocean. Along with this pestering grim recovery came the stress and lingering anxiety of potentially failing a freshman math class. Mr. Albaugh, my ninth grade math teacher, was a fairly young, arrogant, but undoubtedly intelligent math teacher. He would always have some kind of smug retort to a student’s question, and upon the remark, “I do not understand this! he would counter, “It is in the book, look it up! “.
This response frustrated me to no end. “What kind of response is that?! ” I thought to myself. Not only did I have no idea what to look for in the book, I also did not have the confidence to ask another teacher due to the lingering depression I had. No matter how many times I would go and ask my teacher for assistance, he would insist on using the textbook! Failing to adapt to Mr. Albaugh’s learning techniques, I failed my math class for two semesters and got two F’s slapped right on my record.
This event had set a permanent scar on my confidence and will to succeed in math. It carried its preoccupying fangs onto the next chapter of my life and pushed me off the cliff to fend for myself. The next year, I felt discouraged as the lingering symptoms of depression gradually crept its way back into the crevices of my brain and deteriorating confidence. It felt disconcerting to know that I was alienated as the failure among the many students that were able to successfully past their first high school math course. I was assigned to Mr. Reed’s remedial Math class in my sophomore year.
My first impression of Mr. Reed was that of an old, monotone teacher whose only focus was to repeat everything into our brains until a switch turned on. This turned out to be only partly true. Later I found out Mr. Reed was an excellent teacher, fantastically attentive and straight to the point. I felt a paternal bond with Mr. Reed, as my dad carried identical traits akin to the blunt demeanor my teacher portrayed. The differing approach to math Mr. Reed chose helped me to excel substantially.
I found myself gracefully placed in the situation of having higher grades in lessons, almost to the point where Mr. Reed thought it be reliable of me to explain the problems to other students. Eventually, I had become the second teacher of Mr. Reed’s Math and Finance course in my senior year of high school. My classmate began to rely on me to be successful, me, the geeky math nerd who at one point in their life failed two semesters in a row. Attempting to help my classmates made me develop a new method of teaching, similar to Mr. Reed’s. I began to curiously question everything back to my struggling classmates, swiftly catching them off guard with the response, “Okay, show me how I just did that,” when I thought they were not understanding the material.
Seeing my classmate’s surprised faces helped me understand where I needed to assist them. Apparently, Mr. Reed thought my approach to teaching was so effective that I was awarded a certificate and a nifty little gold button on the Honor’s night of my high school. As of now, I am still in the processing of constantly questioning how I can improve in my mathematical studies. When I solve a math problem now, I am questioning everything, always remembering to ask as many questions as possible instead of sitting in a lecture with a blank expression plastered on my face.
Rising above my clinical depression and past failures, I have chosen to openly accept all perspectives and integrate them into my learning process. However, this is not to say that I am afraid of failures, for now greet failures with open arms. I sought comfort in knowing that I had risen above my past failures that were haunting me. The fluid progression of this new angle towards learning impelled me to have an open mind in the endless challenge that is mathematics.
