Algebra: It’s a Struggle, But I Love it

I think I can do Algebra in the 8th grade, because I’ve read my sister’s math book. The math questions in the book are not difficult for us.

Math is one part of my life. I’m interested in math.

When I enrolled in elementary school, I began to learn math. Although it’s not easy to solve the problems, you can learn how to really focus.

I can get a good grade in math. But I’m not sure if I’m good at math. Why? Because my math grades are not balanced – sometimes I get a high score, and sometimes my grade is low.

I came to the U.S. as an immigrant from China. I was able to learn more in my classes in China than I can here. And now here, my classes are teaching me math that I’ve already learned. So I asked myself what should I do next? Review? Study it again? I don’t know. I’ve lost my way already. And even though I sometimes don’t know how to deal with math, I love to practice. I usually ask my classmates for different kinds of exercise problems to work together. I think that’s good for your brain. My math teacher told me that math is really helpful to exercise your brain. That’s true.

I believe that math can make me smart.

Sometimes my sister doesn’t know how to do it, and she would ask me. I didn’t think she couldn’t do it, but she just didn’t know the meaning in English. So I found a way to solve this problem. If you don’t know the words in English, you can try to guess it from the numbers. That’s helpful. My teacher has taught me to do math in this way. Besides, I’m trying to read more math questions in English. I want to improve myself.

I think when we’re studying math we have to be more patient with it. Don’t be afraid of it, and never give up before you finish it. Then, you’ re successful!

-Fanny Huang

My Worst Math Experience

My eight-grade math teacher was something of an institution at my middle school. Ms. Smith had taught thirteen-year olds advanced algebra there for at least twenty years, though she was always sure to remind us at least a couple during class of her previous job as a researcher for NASA. Though she only came up to my shoulders, Ms. Smith exuded an icy fierceness and a no-nonsense sensibility that had me petrified even before I knew that she taught Advanced Algebra, the highest level of math my school offered.

I remember the way she silenced us at the beginning of that first class, a group of boisterous pre-teens regaling each other with summer tales with a glare over the top of her horn-rimmed glasses. Ms. Smith was wearing one of her many plum colored suits, and the light from the over-head projector made spooky shadows across her face, the same way a flashlight’s illumination transforms someone telling a ghost-story. But what came out of Ms. Smith’s mouth was much more frightening than any horror story I’d ever heard.

“I expect this class to be one of the most difficult you have taken so far. We will cover advanced high-school level algebraic concepts, some of which I expect even the most prodigious math student will have trouble with. I give you fair warning; I am tougher than most of your other teachers, I grade harder, assign more, expect better. Welcome to eighth grade advanced algebra, I wish you all luck.”

It should here be mentioned that my middle-school building used to be a moratorium, Ms. Smith’s Algebra room the dead body’s viewing area.

I have been a good math student. It was by some unbelievably lucky guesswork that I passed the entrance exam into the harder of the two math classes. Algebraic concepts elude me, I have no memory for the necessary terminology, and even the simplest equation gives me a headache. But the terror that one of Ms. Smith’s glares inspires is enough to make my math skills go from faulty to dismal.

I remember one incident where she had called me up in front of the class to find “x” on the overhead projector. The equation was fairly simple; I could see what steps I had to take next to solve it. But something about the way everyone in the class was watching me made me hesitate, and I glanced up. Met with Ms. Smith’s icy glare, I froze, and immediately heard my heart begin to pound in my ears. The problem before me suddenly became endlessly difficult, solving it a ludicrous impossibility.

“Ava? Are you stuck? You’re almost done.”

I didn’t answer.

“You only have to multiply twenty-five times five, see? You know what that is.”
My face was burning.

“Think of quarters. You’ve got five quarters.”

I still didn’t answer. My heart was beating so hard, but my mind stayed frozen. This, to my thirteen-year old mind, was the height of humiliation. Why couldn’t I solve it?

“Eli, why don’t you help her out.”
I returned to my seat almost shaking, and was thankful not to be called on for the rest of class.

In retrospect, I learned more in Ms. Smith’s class that year than I have in any other. But I spent each forty-five minute period in absolute terror, praying that she wouldn’t call on me when I didn’t know the answer. Fear is a powerful motivator, it inspired me to do my homework meticulously each and every night. But to this day I still don’t think that my hard earned A- was worth it.
—Ava Benezra