I think I'm supposed to really be a math whiz, like G. Cantor level math wiz; as in greatest math mind of this Century. You know how I even know who G. Cantor is? I'm reading, in my free time, a book entitled, Everything and More, a Compact History of Infinity, by one David Foster Wallace. You know, just for kicks. Here I am, reading about integrals, derivatives,
Fourier Sets and friends for fun even though I haven't passed a math class since Algebra II in my senior year of highschool and a barely passed that, my friends.
I remember distinctly where the split of, "great math mind" and "something completely different" happened. 6th grade. My class was taking tests to see where they were heading come Middle School - of which memories I have are fairly vacant. I remember only a few things: what my first social studies class looked like, one girl I had a crush on whom I never knew the name of, pimples, this other girl named Brooke whom I used to swap gum with during typing class (which used ancient IBM XT's which I would DIE to own, now) who then was pregnant during my senior year of highschool, that one guy who showed me a real handgun he had in his locker (swear) and shitty school dances. I remembered to forget that time in my life, I distinctly recollect - as if, somewhere in my mind is a stereotypical irish policeman in front of Middle School Memories, holding his hands up to a mental me and going, "Move along, nothing to see here, shows over"...
Not to cause a tangent toward all memories of middle school, although we did just exhausted that, 6th grade I got back my scores for math. I was borderline between the level 1 and 2 classes. Level one is where all the "smart" people go, level 2 is everyone else, except if you get into level 3, which is basically, "i've already got my gas station attendant job lined up in the family business, where's the crack?".
An unknown force directed me towards level 2, which I almost failed. 7th grade math is pre Algebra 1!. After you pass that, you get to take another one! I wish they would just tell it like it is: they're just queueing you up until you somehow mentally grow. What a waste of time.
So, power unbeknownst of mine, I take pre Algebra 1 and by the second quarter, start failing that miserably. The reason behind this, is that I am, in essence, in total clarity of my own: a completely awful student. You just shouldn't even try to reach me if I don't find interest.
And this isn't to say I'm not smart, or that I may even be above average smart, or even to say that I may be some sort of borderline genius, I'm just clinically too smart for my own good sometimes. I knew, in my shitty little 7th grade math class, that other students were learning something interesting, something new and totally out there. Letters signifying numbers?! Wow, how, how, diacritic. So, what was the use for myself to even try at this pre algebra futz. No reason in my world.
Because in my world, summer meant going sailing, where I was basically surrounded by real-world math. Before 7th grade, I knew how to plot a course, triangulate a position on a chart using landmarks, figure out the speed the boat was going by taking sights at timed intervals, I could read clouds, understand weather reports, tide tables, I knew more knots than was actually healthy for a 13-year old, I understood the watermelon seed principle of how a sailboat actually goes (now we're talking physics) but I was drowning in a remedial math class.
Going forwards to Junior year of highschool, where I decide to not be a bad student, and somehow become a total and complete poster boy of a highschool student, I not only passed my math class (geometry at the time, but again, level 2) but totally ace it. I don't know if this is because some weird hormone imbalance or if it was because everything was now visual. Or, that I was at least given reason for the things I'm seeing - theorems and postulates that is.
I'm chalking it up to a temporary personality crisis, because the next year I was back to almost failing my math class - this time, Algebra 2 level 1, although this class was really made for Sophomores. I begged to get into Level 1 instead of level 2. I showed fists and they took notice. As soon as I found out I got accepted to college, I did the senior slide, but I did something totally peculiar: I started taking computer books to school to read during classes, like my math and physics classes. My highschool didn't teach computer science classes at all. No one I knew programmed a computer. I cannot for the life of me figure out why I was spending $60 every two of weeks of my 18 year old throw away income on 500 page computer programming manuals.
I mean, if computer programming is anything, it's applied math. My interest went so far in this that I looked into minoring in Computer Science in college. They told me to pass Calculus 1 and come back. I didn't, but took an internship at a web design company and became it's sole programmer in a year.
What I guess this is all coming towards is, why can I learn so much better, almost in a dramatically accelerated pace when alone, but mentally turn off when in a classroom setting? Perhaps this is the silliest question to ask when my senior year of college is dawning. Or perhaps, weird things creep inside ones head while you paint letters at a rate of about 35 every 3 hours from a printout outputted from a program that you wrote from absolute scratch and being absolutely conscious that you have about 25 more of these 3 hour sessions. It's a funny position to find yourself in and one I didn't think of when I decided to first pick up some paints and a brush for the first time. Maybe that's a good sign.
Yesterday, I gave Penelope two roses because I can't help myself and put "Pass Calculus 1" on my list of things to do before I die.
