How come you're not ashamed of what you are?
Contrary to what I'd originally imagined, being forced in to two night classes (Monday and Tuesday, 6 to 9 -- Socio-Political Issues in Education, and History of the Second World War) has actually worked out well for me. I'm finally coming to realize after HOW long in the system that my brain works better at night. Math that makes no sense at 1:00 in the afternoon comes together around ten or eleven. Normally I don't like to do any homework after nine o'clock at night save for reading out of some notion that it's 'too late'. It appears that I may have to experiment with my study habits this semester and see if maybe an adjustment of my sleep patterns and general approach to schoolwork is in order. Hmmm.
Yes, by the way. You read right. I'm in a math course. I know. I'm shocked too. Let me state for the record that it was not something that I wanted. I needed to fill my Natural Science requirement somehow, as apparently the Human Geography course I took back in first year to meet that requirement doesn't count...much to the surprise and chagrin of both myself and my academic advisor. The math course I'm taking not only meets that requirement, but also gives me a leg up in the Education program: having it ion my CV means that I can teach both Middle and High school....though I get the sneaking suspicion I've mentioned this before to you guys. Apologies for the repetition. Please note though, dear flist, that I am severely math-phobic. And math-stupid too, for that matter, which makes me a bit of an outcast in my family. Mum, Jewels, Dave, and even Joe to a certain extent are all mathmatical-logical thinkers with linear bents. Me? I'm the linguistic thinker with strong abstract tendencies. Which means that we not only have a hard time understanding each other when we talk about learning, but that they fail to understand how I can suck so hard at math.
There's one incredibly good thing about this math class, however. Sitting there in class and fighting so hard to understand what the prof is talking about was an eye-opening experience. I've been coddled by University in that I've been able to isolate myself in the study of subjects that come naturally to me -- English and History specifically. Those are areas where my kind of learning style excels, and are areas that I'm passionate about. The environment of a math class is forgien to me, and to sit there and be confused was a potent reminder of what my students may yet face when they're learning from me. It's easy to take for granted as a teacher that your students GET the material. I never want to forget the frustration I face in my math class, or that sense of helplessness that comes from looking at a math problem that I just don't get. Numbers may as well be Greek to me for all I understand them some days. In that same way, a poem or a short story might just as well be numbers for all a student of mine will understand. This revelation, which just came to me the other night, was a powerful one. It's seems like such a self-evident thing, and of course I knew this intellectually, but it truly hit home in a very real way for me right then. I realized that I never want my students to feel out to sea in that way; I want to be an accessible teacher who will be willing to help them and has the patience and ability to do so. As an educator, I need to understand that struggle and those feelings, and never abandon a student to them. Last night was a moment of shining clarity in which I think my sense of empathy was stoked. I need to keep that 'fire' burning, and remember just how it feels to look at a text and not get it.
Whoo. So, now that I've recorded that particular catharsis, I think I'm going to go grab a bite, take a shower, and pay some attention to academics for a bit.
Cheers.