New Insights

My classmates

One of today’s insights was about empathy.

At the end of class today, there were three students still standing (actually sitting). Everyone else had bailed – some early, some late. Besides me, there were two probably freshmen females, who were both distinguished by having a heart.

They approached Prof. John and offered some suggestions about how to get students to stay longer. John seemed puzzled and then asked if it was disruptive to them that other students left during class. They said yes, but what bothered them was how rude and disrespectful they thought it was. I couldn’t tell how John felt about their comments, but I admired both of them for their concern and compassion.

The class is made up primarily of freshmen who didn’t qualify to get into “college algebra” which they need to be admitted into some majors. Their age category was verified when I overheard one of them remark, “I got my skateboard fixed. I went to the hardware store and got some screws for it.”

The class seems to be made up of four types of kids.

There are students who have either dropped the class or stopped coming. I suppose some of them will show up to take exams and hope for the best. They may even know the material and just need the class on their transcripts.

A handful of students attend about half of each session, are quiet enough, take notes, and just seem to be there.

The “high self esteem” group is not happy to be in class and does not have much patience (or, respect) for our teacher. They are the ones who suggest that class end early, that everyone get A’s, make eye contact and giggle if John stumbles over anything, and get up and leave when they've had enough for the day. These kids have personalities. They’re fun and sometimes funny and probably have plenty of friends. But, as I sat in a class given by a community college for no university credit, I thought back 25 years to a sign hanging on the wall behind a news director’s desk at a TV station where I worked. The sign read something like, “If you’re that spectacular, why are you still working in Peoria?”

And there are the couple of students who have been blessed (I hope) with more than the average share of empathy.

During our first class, I have already forgotten exactly when – after class or during the break – one girl asked out loud to no one in particular, “Why is everyone being so mean?” I thought good things about her. She was one of the girls who stayed until John finished the last problem on the board today. She was the one who first approached him about students leaving during his teaching. I don’t need to embarrass her here by using her name but she is a freshman, out of state student. She hopes to major in business and needs this class and says she doesn’t do well in math. She feels for the teacher and it bothers her personally that many of her classmates are “rude.” She’s not sure he even notices the rudeness, but, even so . . .

I think I have a lot to learn from her.

Fessing up

Before class started I was at my desk writing notes – like the quote about the skateboard. One of the students was curious enough to comment on my writing in my yellow legal pad and ask about it. I said was taking notes about the class and blogging about it. There were probably six or eight students in the classroom at the time, and they all looked up. There were a few more questions about me and who I was and about my blog’s address. I told them about this blog and a couple immediately typed the URL into their laptops. That’s why there was a spike in readership at about 4 today.

When I said I was taking notes about the class in general, and after I let them know about this blog, several of them piped up and said I should write a book about the experience. As soon as I said that I’m thinking about it, several said, “I wanna be in it.” I smiled to myself and thought, “Are you sure?” But I also smiled because, even at 18 years old, still, they instinctively seemed to feel that if my story were in a book, it was real. The Internet doesn’t really count. Ink on paper.

First experience feeling lost in symbols

Today’s other insight was what it felt like to be clueless.

One of the reasons I am starting this little math odyssey is to put myself into situations where I “don’t have a clue” and see what happens. That happened today, already.

John was at the board, going as slowly and deliberately as he could. He was carefully explaining and demonstrating manipulating functions algebraically and how to use the “point slope form” to solve problems. He was speaking perfect English and writing letters and numbers on the board that I could identify, and I might as well have been in a classroom in Korea. Not exactly. I could grasp phrases and once the problems were simplified into a “solve for x” format, I was back with the program. But what puzzled me, was that this was supposed to be (still) the easy review part of the course. We’re barely on chapter 2 of a 14 chapter book that we are supposed to get through.

Most of my classmates seemed comfortable. After all, I learned, they had this material last year as high school seniors. I knew should be able to follow this stuff and I was afraid I was missing something obvious.

That thought brought me back to 4th grade band. I did well on the music aptitude tests. I could differentiate pitch and mimic back rhythms from memory. I was assigned a beautiful coronet and could make sounds. I quickly learned a couple of scales in one octave. But I missed an important point of information. It never occurred to me and no one ever told me that note placement on the staff related to pitch, not just finger placement on the keys. When the notes, by name, repeated on the next octave, I just didn’t get the concept that the sound needed to be higher in pitch as it worked its way up the staff. It wasn’t just another set of buttons to push to get a C or F. I didn’t put that concept together until years after I quit band.

I’m hoping these linear function things that we’re learning about now don’t have something “obvious” going on that I’m totally missing. If I find out, I’ll tell you.

First appointment with the (my?) publisher

My telephone appointment with the publisher’s senior acquisitions editor is tomorrow at noon. I had hoped to spend a good part of today preparing, but didn’t for even a minute. I thought about it on my bike ride home and feel good. The best case scenario could be great. Any worst case scenario, not good, but not too bad either.

Not bad scenario: I have a good visit on the phone with a nice lady and we have a short brainstorming session that is stimulating but she or I or both of us realize we really don’t have a project.

Bad case scenario: We like the idea, I commit, we sign contracts, and I can’t get it done. I’d hate that.

Other bad case scenario: I write “The Minimal Math Book for Journalists,” and it is bad. It either doesn’t get published or get’s published and no one like it or buys it.

Best case scenario: I write a useful and cleverly illustrated “Minimal Math Book for Journalists” and it becomes a standard tool for students and working journalists all over the world for years to come, sort of like “Elements of Style” but about numbers. Nice daydream.

I’ll let you know how the phone call went in my next post.