Free advice: Don’t wait for the end of college to take math. That is all.
I am a social science person. I like English, History, and Political Science. I love getting involved in philosophical and/or religious debates. The only thing that kept me from dropping out of high school were the drama and music classes.
I have been employed in some capacity since 1980. I have used very basic math to handle cash, or to make sure I wasn’t being ripped off by an employer. I have held a wide range of jobs (I used to make ink), but in my entire working life I have never had to “solve for X.”
One of the things that comes with age is the ability to self-evaluate. Over the years I have learned that I don’t like math. I still handle cash and if a customer interrupts as I’m making change, I have to start over. I dislike math, and I truly despise having to do it “in public.” I downloaded apps that calculate tips, I hire someone to do my taxes, and when the kids need help with their ‘rithmetic, I send them right back to their teachers (papa don’t do common core).
When I decided to go back to school I knew in the back of my mind that I’d be required to take a math class. I hoped there would be some shortcut around it, but alas there was none. When I took the placement assessment and found out that I was going to need three prerequisite classes before I could take MATH102, I nearly abandoned my endeavor. In my bones I felt like I was setting myself up for failure.
Instead of facing the demon head-on, I took other classes. I took Public Speaking, because I already know how to speak in public. I took Theater Arts, because I thought it would be an easy ‘A’ (it wasn’t). I did all I could to avoid trying to decipher numbers mixed with letters and squiggly lines. However, time has run out on me. I’m down to the last few classes needed to graduate, and among them…MATH!
In addition to being forced to take the class, I have to take it for four hours…twice a week…at night. I found my way to the first session last week. The classroom is in a part of the campus that I had never explored. I had roamed the grounds for just over a year, and yet there were crevices that I simply missed. This class was in one of those fissures. A dimly lit, sparsely populated building perched on a ridge overlooking an abyss. If you stand still outside the classroom door you can hear coyotes planning their nightly invasion. It may well be the only place on campus that reeks of stale second hand smoke, and desperation. Yet here I am, adding my own stench of hopelessness to the perfume. I should be in full “senioritis” mode, instead I find myself seated among other numerically challenged individuals. Our only algebraic commonality is the countdown to the end of the semester.
The 50 Year Old Frosh 