I was talking to one of my peeps today about his foray into the world of tutoring. He's working with a little guy in second grade who is struggling with math and likes Cheese Nips. The fella told his tutor that he explains math better than his classroom teacher, and although the tutor defended the teacher (lots of kids to teach, hard to give personal attention to each one, yada yada), I couldn't help but flash back to my worst experiences as a student.

It's no surprise that most of them involved math. Even though I was a consistent A-B student throughout my school career, at every level math was the subject that didn't come naturally to me. I usually did all right, but at a few points I struggled enough to earn grades that weren't consistent with the rest of my report card.

My freshman and sophomore years, I had the same teacher for algebra and geometry. He was a PE teacher and basketball coach, which might or might not explain why he didn't seem all that motivated to teach math. I have the worst memories of sitting in his class while he "lectured," my head echoing with confused and furious self-talk...

What page did he say?
You are the WORST math student. How are you so dumb that you don't get this?
DAMMIT, I don't understand a thing he's saying.
Wait, wait, don't go to the next part of the proof--I still don't get the first part!
I got a D on my last test, and I don't understand this crap any more than I did that. What am I gonna do if I get a D on my report card?
Stupid, stupid, stupid, STUPID! You're the only person in here who doesn't get it!

It was the most helpless feeling--not only not understanding the material, but not even understanding what exactly I didn't understand. I didn't even know where to begin. That's why I even asked him for help, a step I rarely took with teachers, because with most subjects I felt confident enough in my ability that I just figured out points of confusion on my own. But when I asked him privately for further clarification, he simply repeated "explanations" he had given in class. He didn't seem to know where to begin any more than I did.

At a parent-teacher conference with my mom, his answer to her questions about my bad grades was, "Jackie just doesn't have much math ability." My mom asked what any parent in her situation should: "If she's not a skilled student, why is she getting As and Bs in all of her classes except yours?"

And so it went that way. I stumbled my way through those two years' worth of math classes and braced myself for more stumbling as I began advanced algebra my junior year.

But that year, I had a different teacher. Mr. Bedford. I had never had him for any classes before, but he had a reputation at the school as a very well-liked teacher. I just figured this meant he was cool--not necessarily that he was a great teacher.

But he was. As I listened to his lectures, I found that I still wasn't quite getting it all, but I didn't feel completely lost, as I had in the previous two years. He was engaging and welcoming enough that I felt I could ask him for help privately, even though I was embarrassed to be asking him to clarify the most basic algebra concepts that I should've mastered two years ago. And I did ask. And he did help. I was amazed to find that he didn't just repeat what he had said in class, but tried new ways of elucidating concepts that he could tell were eluding my understanding.

And whaddayaknow: I started getting As and Bs in Mr. Bedford's advanced algebra class. In a few short weeks, he found a way to bring me up to speed on two years of lost learning. And although I don't remember exactly how he did it, I'm pretty sure it was just that he tried--and persisted until he saw the light bulb flash. The thing is, it didn't even take that long; once he helped me understand some elementary concepts, most of the rest of the material just fell into place for me.

In short, he taught.

The next year, Mr. Bedford left the teaching profession. To be an insurance agent. I'm pretty sure he still is in that line of work. I don't know why he quit teaching...probably he got fed up with the same crap lots of teachers get fed up with. I'm sure he's an immense help to people in his role as an agent, but it breaks my heart to know how many kids like me who needed help missed out after he left.

So all that's left is to be thankful. And to wonder--what is it I should be doing now so that someday, someone is grateful that I made the choice I did?