Our Own Algebra Nazi: Her Path

She is laying in the bed, knees bent, with a deep rose quilt over her. In her hands is a heavy textbook which reads “Algebra 2” on the front. The sparkly green cover does not disguise the challenges within nearly well enough. On the bed sheets around her is an abused calculator, a gnawed-on pencil, several discarded sheets of scribbled on notepaper, and an equally scribbled on notepad. Her face enunciates her mood. She is staring into the chasm called a math book with steely focused eyes a furrowed forehead indicating thought. She holds in her hands the source of her distress.1

Days later, she has relearned what they taught her so long ago, and she jumps into her Nissan, math notes, and lesson plan in hand. She then speeds off into Clemson. Exactly twenty-three minutes later, she is there, in the home of her best friend, hoping to get in a brief chat before she begins the Algebra madness she apparently loves. 2

Her most important luggage, besides her will to teach, is her lesson plan. She informs me that she employs the use of the Socratic Method. That means that she asks questions in order to instruct. She makes the students figure things out for themselves. She only prods gently in the right direction. I quote her when I say, “ Teachers set expectations which their students rise to.” That is how she works; she sets the scene to achieve learning, but it is the student that learns.3

Today is a Wednesday, the worst day of the week for Charles, who likely dreads these little math sessions. He spends approximately two hours holed up in his room with the Algebra Nazi, world’s best tutor, and world’s best mom. She is patient, but firm, and always achieves her topmost goal: to teach something. She never gives away an answer, but makes him reach for it and figure it out himself. She expects the real thinking to come from him.4

It’s a long project, but that is what she lives for. Those “Aha!” moments, when her hard work pays off. Suddenly, he understands an explanation, and that nice little light bulb in his head goes off. It satisfies her, to see that flash of recognition, to know that she has accomplished something. She says it’s as good as eating ice cream. Those endless hours of Algebra studying, loud mutterings, and achieving self-knowledge, have been passed on to another. For that she is happy.5

Following her adventure in the math world, she returns home to her permanent position as my mom. She then goes about her daily life, awaiting next week when she will journey back, into the frustrating yet rewarding world of tutoring once again.6