And I thought that last semester's computer class was going to kill me. No, it seems that class was preparing me for the torture of this semester's Sadistic, I mean, Statistics class. Torture, I tell ya. Pure torture. It is just not good for a person to take this class when she hasn't had a math class in 20 years. Luckily, I have a nice professor. She seems to feel a little bit sorry for me. It probably has a little something to do with the fact that I come into her office a lot for help. On the second day, I showed up to her office, lookin' all nervous and stressed out. She offered to explain the basic formula we were learning, mentioning how simple it was. I was like, "Oh, I get the formula. I just don't know how to multiply fractions. " After that, she took pity on me.
In fact, every class demonstration she does, she looks straight at me and asks the whole class if they are understanding what's going on before she moves on. She waits for me. If I nod, she moves forward. If I look confused, she explains it all again. So, I realize just how lucky I am. This professor either likes me, or she hates me and wants to make sure she doesn't have me in her class ever again. I can imagine her thinking, "If Abigail gets it, then everyone gets it. And I must make sure Abigail gets this so she won't fail and have to take this all over again. Because let's face it, she won't really get this the second time around either."
The last time I came into her office, my eyes were blood shot from staying up all night, crying over my homework. I whined, "I am really struggling." And she said, "I don't think so, your grades are good." And I was like, "But I spend 8 hours a night doing the assignments and I just don't think it should take a human that long." But it turns out, that yes, it should, and it does.
I decided to ask my classmates how they were doing. I got very scientific and asked, "On a scale from 1 to 10, how hard is this class?" And what is your major and how smart are you when it comes to math?" Oh, boy! Was I ever thrilled when nursing, math, and science majors who claim to be smart, told me that this class was a 10.
When you feel dumb, it is great to hang out with other people who feel dumb too. It makes you feel less dumb. Maybe that's why I like hanging out with my children so much. Not that they are dumb, but let's face it, teenagers are absolutely retarded, and being around them makes me feel very wise and smart. My younger children are just learning new things all the time and I look like the smartest person in the world just because I can tie my own shoes and I know which button to push when I run the dishwasher.
There are only a few more weeks of school left. It really is too bad that I haven't been able to focus as much energy on my other classes that I really love this semester, like: German, English, and Theatre. My brain can only do so much. I am telling you, every time I leave my math class, I literally feel like someone has taken a shovel and scooped out part of my brain and thrown it on the sidewalk where a big dog has come by and eaten it all up. Gross, I know, but it's how it really feels. So, by the time I get to German class, which is my favorite, Eine Hunde hast geessent meine braineschluaffen. (that really doesn't say a dog has eaten my brain, but it's close.) It's like when I went around my kids' bedroom screaming, "Ich bin Freitag!" Thinking I was saying, "I'ts Friday!" But really, I was just saying, "I am Friday!" Which maybe I was that day.
I am always trying to speak in a different language. I studied French for 8 years. 8 years! And when I was teaching preschool in New Mexico, one of my students was the son of a famous French skier who had moved his family to Taos to run a ski shop and train for the Olympics. This little boy was so cute, but he didn't speak very much English, so I tried to speak French now and then to make him feel comfortable. I stopped doing that when I had the kids in circle time and I reached behind me to feed the fish in our aquarium. I said, "Je mange les poison." And he broke down and cried. I had told the poor kid I was going to eat the fish.
God bless all the math teachers in the world. God bless all the students who struggle, trying to make their lives better. And God bless all the preschool teachers who really do eat the fish out of the aquarium. Amen.
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