I was an “A” student in high school.
I also really sucked at understanding almost every subject.
Nearly nothing came naturally. When lectured in a seat, I learned nothing.
So I came home, read the book, taught myself, aced exams, and forgot everything right after. (Except English, which I liked. Y un poco de Espanol.) As I finally left my graduation and looked back at the doors of my former educational institution, I had a strange feeling – one less of accomplishment and more of Andy Dufresne sneaking away from Shawshank (“I got away with it!”).
But when I got to college, I had my first amazing math teacher.
What made him so great was that he had us help ourselves – not just listen to him. And when he asked me to tutor, I was flattered and surprised (but mostly flattered, which is why I took him up on it #ego). And you know what? By saying yes first and figuring out how to teach later, I became pretty good at math too (for the time I was there, anyway.)
This is because I was involved and having my work validated by someone.
And that ego-stroke made me wanna keep doing well.
That’s the thing about math.
Unless you’re a beautiful mind who’s had a mobile of imaginary numbers floating over his crib since infancy, sometimes you don’t know you’re good at it until you try. But you don’t want to try after an hour of being overwhelmed by more esoteric looking formulas than you have one on one time actually learning how it works in application with the teacher. Without having put whatever you just learned in the lesson to the test, you end up going to the next few classes of the day (likely about totally unrelated subjects – especially if you’re still in high school), so that you forget that thing you sorta-learned and didn’t-try-out earlier that day.
That method doesn’t work for me.
I forget everything.
Because, for me, there’s no personal attachment to it if I don’t get involved right when instructions are given. That’s why the recent move Steven Strogatz (author, columnist, and Professor of Applied Mathematics at Cornell University) made in offering a different brand of math to non math majors, is pretty much awesome.
By bringing games into the equation like “can you fold this piece of paper into a scalene triangle?” (harder than it sounds), it interrupts that expectation of a mundane lecture we always get, traipsing into a classroom, sitting, and pretending to listen. Right away, I’m part of this lesson and so are you. We’re not sitting here, half asleep, watching a corpulent instructor get the chalk of the notes she just wrote all over her belly as she shuffles laterally across the board. Rather, we’re doing the lesson with our hands and minds. And that sticks because, in a way, we’ve taught it to ourselves.
Or as Strogatz states, “They were having a true mathematical moment” because they were “deeply engaged with a puzzle that made sense to them, and they were enjoying the struggle”. He added “Over the weekend I started to get emails from some of them, expressing the excitement they felt when they solved it,” insisting (and this is my favorite part): “I want my students to memorize and know basic facts, and I want them to understand what those facts mean, why they’re important, where they come up in the real world. I want it all and I think students want it all too.”
When I read that last bit, it reminded me of something posted recently.
About common core.
This math rant keeps popping up in my feed. When I wrote my own loquacious rant on why I don’t hate common core math – or at least the concept of it – I added in a picture (above) of a math example that the parents were protesting. In their resistance of common core, they added personal credentials (like how they had a “masters in engineering”) as if this somehow supported their follow up admission of ignorance: “And even I don’t get it.” All that did was make me sad for whatever institution it was from which they earned their credentials. Because before reading these hate-posts, I had one’a those math moments of my own that the prof was talking about above.
I didn’t get it either at first (I mean, come on – it does look like something on a sarcophagus)
But that – the struggle – was enticing.
Arithmetically arousing.
Other people have done this method and get the right answer every time. So could I. So could you. And when I open my mind with that, I got it within a couple minutes. It’s nice to know I’ve got different tools at the ready for problems – both the from-memory stuff and the let’s-draw-out-four-sets-of-nine when it’s needed. Much like the reason why I pack a huge bag of too many outfits for a short holiday, I like having options – whether it’s for solving problems in my way or ensembles for the day. And if nada else, it’s good practical mental gymnastics that’ll bleed over into other life-areas. Because watching other people drive a car or play volleyball or do yoga poses never taught me to do any of them – much less do them well. I had to try each for myself – and practice – before any of them felt as natural as reaching for my phone first thing in the morning does.
Same thing goes for math.
So whether it’s triangle folding or tutor-pushing, more profs need to take Steve’s lead.
That way, kids can feel less ex-con and more next John Nash when they toss their caps.