Of Conflict & Conciliation
I have a learning disability.
But, as that hackneyed phrases goes, my learning disability doesn't have me. Well, not all the time, anyway.
There was a time- at one point- a very very long time ago when I considered math to be my favorite subject. This was when we were still on adding and subtracting whole numbers, maybe the odd decimal. I thought it fascinating that two numbers could come together and create a new one- it was like ordered magic. It was orderly, in a world where the Bosnian conflict played nightly on the BBC newscast on PBS, a world where my mind was straining for answers, yet kept from them, because they were 'too advanced', as the Explainers said. I read and daydreamed and added, fantasizing that one day, I'd know it all.
How things change!
And then, one day, math wasn't as easy as it used to be. We moved on from adding and subtracting to multiplication and division, and algebra. Even the types of numbers changed! The swell of signs and integers threatened to crush me, and on my fifth grade ITBS, my reading levels were shown to be on a collegiate level (forgive me, dear reader, for I hate to boast), while my math skills remained on a second-grade level.
In eighth grade, my skill improved to that of a third-grader's. In that same year, my Algebra teacher, intrigued as to what was the cause of my mathematical malaise, agreed to tutor me, and help me devise strategies to overcome what we did not yet know was a disability.
Mr. Haynes was my favorite teacher of eighth grade, and the first to notice that anything was wrong. Because he saw that I was trying and struggling so, he graded me on my effort. It was the first time I had ever made an A in a math class. In our private lessons, we went over what he was covering in class, with some gossip and esoterica sprinkled in. If ever we finished early, I would sometimes I ask him to explain a famous concept that I didn't understand, because I knew that he could explain it in such a way that I could grasp it. Among the more complicated ones- Pi, quantum theory, the Golden Ratio and its application to art- my favorite was to ask of Einstein's Theory of Relativity. Although the math involved was like Basque to me, the eloquence of it- space is flexible, it has bends and bumps and rips and curves, and light follows around those curves relative to itself- was like the rays of the sun penetrating the gloom on a cloudy day.
However, I still couldn't explain E=MC^2 to you. Which was why I went into the viewing of 'Einstein & Eddington' with some trepidation.
I wasn't worried about either David Tennant's or Andy Serkis' performances (which were top-notch, IMHO; and both hella sexy). I was worried about the math. I was aware that they had probably dumbed down the majority of the concepts in order to reach the audience, but I like to think that I'm the writer's 'worst case scenario' dumb-down model. I can't even read an analogue clock without at least a five-minute's head start, so what if it was completely over my head?
Thank goodness it wasn't. The scene with the tablecloth I found maybe a bit more exhilarating than most people did- because I got it. It was now something I could touch, that I could repeat. I could visualize Mercury's delinquency and the Sun bending the starlight. And for a girl whose poor brain was made differently, it was enough to make me gasp with delight. It helped me reconnect with the child who once found numbers magical. And perhaps, with a bit of work, I'll find them magical once more.
But, as that hackneyed phrases goes, my learning disability doesn't have me. Well, not all the time, anyway.
There was a time- at one point- a very very long time ago when I considered math to be my favorite subject. This was when we were still on adding and subtracting whole numbers, maybe the odd decimal. I thought it fascinating that two numbers could come together and create a new one- it was like ordered magic. It was orderly, in a world where the Bosnian conflict played nightly on the BBC newscast on PBS, a world where my mind was straining for answers, yet kept from them, because they were 'too advanced', as the Explainers said. I read and daydreamed and added, fantasizing that one day, I'd know it all.
How things change!
And then, one day, math wasn't as easy as it used to be. We moved on from adding and subtracting to multiplication and division, and algebra. Even the types of numbers changed! The swell of signs and integers threatened to crush me, and on my fifth grade ITBS, my reading levels were shown to be on a collegiate level (forgive me, dear reader, for I hate to boast), while my math skills remained on a second-grade level.
In eighth grade, my skill improved to that of a third-grader's. In that same year, my Algebra teacher, intrigued as to what was the cause of my mathematical malaise, agreed to tutor me, and help me devise strategies to overcome what we did not yet know was a disability.
Mr. Haynes was my favorite teacher of eighth grade, and the first to notice that anything was wrong. Because he saw that I was trying and struggling so, he graded me on my effort. It was the first time I had ever made an A in a math class. In our private lessons, we went over what he was covering in class, with some gossip and esoterica sprinkled in. If ever we finished early, I would sometimes I ask him to explain a famous concept that I didn't understand, because I knew that he could explain it in such a way that I could grasp it. Among the more complicated ones- Pi, quantum theory, the Golden Ratio and its application to art- my favorite was to ask of Einstein's Theory of Relativity. Although the math involved was like Basque to me, the eloquence of it- space is flexible, it has bends and bumps and rips and curves, and light follows around those curves relative to itself- was like the rays of the sun penetrating the gloom on a cloudy day.
However, I still couldn't explain E=MC^2 to you. Which was why I went into the viewing of 'Einstein & Eddington' with some trepidation.
I wasn't worried about either David Tennant's or Andy Serkis' performances (which were top-notch, IMHO; and both hella sexy). I was worried about the math. I was aware that they had probably dumbed down the majority of the concepts in order to reach the audience, but I like to think that I'm the writer's 'worst case scenario' dumb-down model. I can't even read an analogue clock without at least a five-minute's head start, so what if it was completely over my head?
Thank goodness it wasn't. The scene with the tablecloth I found maybe a bit more exhilarating than most people did- because I got it. It was now something I could touch, that I could repeat. I could visualize Mercury's delinquency and the Sun bending the starlight. And for a girl whose poor brain was made differently, it was enough to make me gasp with delight. It helped me reconnect with the child who once found numbers magical. And perhaps, with a bit of work, I'll find them magical once more.