Math and Me and Q&A

This is a story about math and me. There’s a physics story that goes with it; I’ll tell that one another day.

It was the 70s. I collected frogs (not real ones). I wore denim overalls with a tiny teddy bear peeking out of the bib pocket, walked barefoot in the halls, and listened to Cat Stevens, Dan Fogelberg and Renaissance. I wrote maudlin, historically-set stories.

When I entered jr. high school, it was determined with scientific objectivity that I was average in math. Advanced in other subjects, but average in math. From that determination forward, public school very nearly prevented me from ever understanding mathematics.

Average meant I was assigned to “B track” classes and “B track” students got the system’s most blasé teachers. In our progressive, upper middle class, suburban public school, “A track” classes got the shining stars and “C track” got the never-give-up-on-a-student heroes.

First there was Inverted-Camel-Man (ICM). He reeked of sour body odor and breath. Poor ICM! Once, he pushed out his protuberant belly and popped a button that pinged like breaking glass all the way across the silent room. I don’t remember what subject he taught.

Then came two years of teachers so skilled and interesting that I can bring nothing about them or their subjects to mind. 

Finally, there was Mostly-Deaf-Burn-Out-Man (MDBOM), who always—but always—faced the blackboard rather than the students. Trails of cigarette smoke followed MDBOM from his office to the classroom. He was the one who answered, “Because you have a test on Friday,” when I asked why we were learning long geometry proofs. MDBOM became my last math teacher, until my last summer at university. 

Before we head off to my alma mater, SUNY-Binghamton, I must tell you that in both jr. and sr. high school, I was a B+/A- student in math, and I got a 93% on the NYS Regents Geometry Exam. 

Riviera Ridge Apartments, Vestal, NY. I still collected frogs and wore overalls. By now, I was into ELO, Led Zeppelin, The Who, Queen, and the Police, and I had accidentally fallen in love with Donna Summer and – horrors! – disco. In order to graduate from SUNY-Binghamton, I needed one math class. I signed up for it during summer session. 

Day one.  My jaw was clicking; I barely slept the night before. In walks my first math teacher in five years: a nun. A nun! A nun teaching Algebra/Trig. Oy. So, when the sister asked for questions, up shot my hand. “Why do I need to learn this?"

“I’m guessing that you are not an engineering student, or computer or hard science student, right?” She waited for me to nod ascent.

Nod.

“Then the truth is that you won't need it. Is the real answer that you are learning this because you need these credits to graduate?” Wait.

Nod.

“Do you like crossword puzzles?” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered. What an odd question! 

“So, you enjoy thinking for fun.”

“Yes.”

“What about this, then? What if you think about what we’re doing here just the way you think about completing crossword puzzles? Pretend it’s fun and see how it goes.” Wait.

Confused stare. Head tilt.  

“Can you try it?”

“I guess….”

“Good,” she nodded. “Next question?”

That June, I spent many happy hours drinking iced tea or Genny Cream Ale, and “doing” math as if I was doing a crossword puzzle. When I didn’t get something, Sister Anne explained it, or had a classmate explain it. Patiently. Again and again as needed. Once, I even got to explain a point to another student. Through some holy alchemy of attitude, kindness and connection, not only did I ace the class, I actually understood the math.

As I became an educator, I learned more about math and me. For instance, had someone noticed that I “got” English syntax and grammar, s/he could have built a bridge from that strength over my confusion:

(X² x Y) + 32 = 12.  This is a sentence. (“I understand sentences!”) It is broken into phrases or clauses (“I can see them”) that include nouns (“There they are”), verbs (“Of course”), and modifiers (“I totally get that”).

Instead, I relied on my memory to “earn” respectable grades while understanding little of value, and deciding that I was mysteriously stupid at math.

While I loved getting good grades in other subjects, in math classes, decent grades were my defiant refusal to be crushed. (“Watch, mom, I will ace this class and the Regents. Then I will never take another math class in my life.”) I knew that I had no clue what any of it meant. And while I refused to let others see me fail, I believed deeply in the mathematical stupidity that my good grades masked. 

That is, until a kind, patient and wise teacher broke through my certainty of failure and found a way to invite success.

Q. Without grades, how do you measure my child’s achievement?

A. Hebrew Academy teachers use recognized standards of achievement to assess your child’s progress and to determine what s/he needs to work on next. Where they are available, such as in Math and Language Arts, we hold ourselves and your child accountable to the Common Core Standards. For Spanish, Hebrew, Social Studies, and Science, we look to culminating Regents and other high school level exams or expectations, to set challenging goals. In Judaic Studies, we have developed our own standards, under Judaic Studies Dean Julie Pollack’s leadership, and we are always raising the bar. 

There has been much controversy about the Common Core in public schools. The debate is rarely about the standards themselves, but rather about how the state is deciding to test everyone (read: more standardized tests) and how it determines when all children of a given grade are considered accountable for certain material.

At Hebrew Academy, your child is deemed to be ready for this skill or that material when s/he has mastered the skill or material that leads up to it. Developing this much awareness of the standards and of each child (what is the next instructional point, how do I best deliver it for this individual, and does s/he have it yet) is the daily work of our teachers. They do it intensely and collaboratively, child by child, observation by observation, demonstration of mastery by demonstration of mastery. We are fortunate to have the teachers who devote themselves to each student in this way and to have the resources to support their efforts.