by Gary R. Dobson
Would math take down my hard-won G.P.A.?
If anyone had told me that at the age of 45 I would be standing in front of a mathematics professor and begging her to allow me to enter her class, I would have told them that intensive therapy was their best choice of action. However, two months ago, that is precisely what I was doing. And it would be the start of an interesting and ultimately rewarding journey.
You see, in early January of this year, I decided that it was high time for me to return to the world of academic studies. It wasn’t that I longed to be in the daily company of young people who were bent on: a) dressing in a grungy manner while bemoaning the fact that homework assignments would interfere with their dating practices, or b) wasting as much of their parent’s financial resources as possible. (Certainly, not all students fall into these two categories, but there are a lot of them out there.)
No, my sole motivation was to complete a mission that I had chosen long ago to put on hold, perhaps, as I thought at the time, forever. This was the year I finally decided to re-enter the world of academia in an effort to earn a degree and emerge as an educated naturalist.
Now, to my way of thinking at the time, I knew that it would be necessary to study English and various other subjects, but I could not fathom that I would have to force my rather aged brain into attempting to comprehend the complexities of math. I was convinced that the curriculum administrators of my local college would agree that since I had not, during the past two decades, used any semblance of mathematical equations, there would be no reason for me to study geometry and algebra at this stage of my life. I was wrong, dead wrong. Thus it was, in late June, that I found myself searching for a math course that would occupy the next two months of my summer.
You might think that registering for a math course would be a fairly simple matter, but as I’ve much to my chagrin discovered, very little comes easy to me. Such was the case when I attempted to sign up for Math 108 (the only course that did not require me to suffer through a qualifying exam). Here is a faithful rendition of what occurred on that dreary day in late June:
“Mr. Dobson, I’m sorry but you cannot register for this course.”
“Why not?” I, with an overwhelming sense of dread, asked the registration representative.
“Sir, you have not presented me with a transcript of your high school algebra and geometry grades. These are required if you are to be permitted to enroll in Math 108.”
“Yes, I…I…I know, but I did contact a representative of my high school’s records office. Truly I did, but the news wasn’t good. You see, the school suffered a flood in 1972 and, well, all the records from my graduating year were destroyed. But, look at my current record! It is very, very good!
“I’m an honors student and in possession of a 4.0 GPA. Surely this indicates that I’m quite intelligent and would breeze through something as basic and unchallenging as Math 108.” Of course, I didn’t believe the statement about the math course to be true and neither did the registration representative.
“I’m afraid that won’t cut it, Mr. Dobson. Congratulations on your fine academic achievements in other courses, but math is an entirely different matter. I can, however, offer you one possible solution to your dilemma. If you can convince a math teacher to…well…look the other way regarding your lack of proof that you did in fact complete algebra and geometry courses so many years ago, you will be able to register for Math 108.”
Armed with the knowledge that I am a very convincing (well, sort-of) person, I responded, “That’s great. I’ll be back in about one hour.”
I raced down the hall and, within minutes, found myself conducting a> conversation with a young lady who eyed me with a great deal of suspicion.
“Mr. Dobson, I have been teaching math for quite a long time and am fully aware of how difficult an eight week Math 108 course can be for a non-traditional student, even one who possesses such a fine academic record as yours.”
“Oh sure, I can understand that, but I’m different. I know that I’m going to be a math star. In fact,” I said, with a profound degree of falsehood, “I will probably eventually become a math professor! Ah, yes, I do love math and the wonders that it offers!”
“You are a heck of a speaker Mr. Dobson, but I’m not buying your story. You can’t prove that you, in high school, passed math and I’m not about to allow you to enter my class. If I did, ‘look the other way,’ it might result in anarchy in the math department. I’ll never allow that to happen. Good day to you, sir.”
As she marched off down the hall, I made a mental note to look up the word “anarchy” in a dictionary. I wanted to make sure that it wasn’t only concerned with the study of math.
Two days later, I was still trying to find a math teacher who would agree to “look the other way.” It was then that I decided to throw myself on what I hoped would be the mercy of the associate dean of math.
“Sir,” I pleaded, while momentarily considering whether to prostrate myself in front of him, “Please, please help me! I need to enroll in a Math 108 course. For the love of God, please help me! I can’t bear the thought of dealing with a pre-qualifying exam, I just can’t! If I have to, I’ll…I’ll…well, it won’t be a pretty sight and my life will be in tatters. Oh, can’t you find someone who will allow me to enter this class?”
The associate dean eyed me with a look of gentle understanding and, undoubtedly, embarrassment at the vision of a grown man quivering in front of him begging like a penniless person in desperate need of a loan. “Mr. Dobson,” he sighed, following a lengthy period of contemplation, “I believe in you. I don’t know whether you’ll be able to pass Math 108, but you deserve a chance to prove yourself. Look, there is one professor who might, as you say, ‘look the other way.’ I can’t tell him to accept you into the class, but I’ll call Pete and leave the decision to him.”
I felt my eyes welling up with tears as I said, “Oh, thank you, thank you! Yes, please contact him.”
Luckily, following 15 minutes of listening to my now well practiced beseechment, Pete conceded. “Gary, I think the material presented in this course will be over your head, ” he cautioned me, “but you are obviously a good student and perhaps will manage to squeak out a ‘C’ for your efforts. If, however, you are heading for a downfall, I’ll allow you to withdraw from the course. That might be the only avenue available to you.”
One week later, I found myself pouring through a textbook that could only be described as full of the most confusing terms and problems I’d ever imagined a human being could demonically dream up. None of what I read made any sense to my befuddled brain and I was in the process of summoning up the courage to ask Pete for a withdrawal form.
Just then, a voice emanating from deep within my heart whispered, “Gary, you can do it. You will make it through the hellish fires of math and emerge with an ‘A’ for your efforts. Just don’t say to yourself, ‘I’ll never, throughout the rest of my life, need this stuff.’ You might just come to enjoy math. Wouldn’t that be something?”
“Yes, voice,” I thought, “that would be something. In fact, that would be a miracle. Actually, voice, you are out of your mind! I will, however, give this a try and do my best.”
Over the next two months, I not only listened to the voice, but also to Pete’s wonderful teachings. In addition, I devoted what seemed to be hundreds of hours to my homework assignments and preparation for a tests.
Two weeks ago, as I strode into the classroom, I found myself in a state of anxiety regarding whether I’d be able to pull off one more ‘A,’ but when the final exam was placed before me, it was instantly obvious I had nothing to fear. The hours of work coupled with a remarkable sense of self-confidence were about to pay off.
I emerged from my experiences with Math 108 as the top student in the class. In fact, I was the only person to get an ‘A’ for the course. I’m proud of my achievement and will always remember what it took to get to that level of success. I’m also proud of the fact that I refused to “look the other way” when it came to summoning up the courage to throw myself into the den of difficulty that math can present to many non-traditional and even traditional students.
I don’t know if the math department of the college that I attend will experience a state of anarchy as a result of allowing me to enter Math 108, but I do know that a certain associate dean of math and a professor named Pete will always be fondly remembered as the heroes of my struggle with math.
Gary Dobson is a freelance writer living in Chicago, Illinois.
