Finals Week

So fortunately, my classes on campus have been pretty cool so far. I guess I should say the teachers have been cool-- is it because 99% of their class is 18 and they feel like they should go easy on us? Maybe. Who cares, though? It's benefitting me.

My algebra teacher, in particular, has been very helpful. She doesn't take crap off of the younglings, but you can tell she really wants us to get what she's teaching. She set up the class so that we would have TWO full days of review before her final. It's comprehensive, and that can be really intimidating when you haven't touched an inequality for three months. Most of the class showed up on the first review day, and she told us that the second was up to us and how comfortable we felt.

I really felt like it would be cocky for me to stay home the second review day. I mean, I'm in basic algebra for a reason. So I went to school at my usual time last Thursday.
I was one of four people that came.
In all honesty, I had most of my questions answered and felt okay with taking the final. But I just can't be too sure considering my history with the subject. So I took a few more notes and left a little early. But not before I had very disturbing flashbacks of middle and high school math classes.

One girl, who hadn't come to class for the first review day, was asking questions that made me nervous for her. She genuinely didn't get it. A lot of it. The teacher would ask her a simple question about a problem she was doing on the board, and her face would go blank.
....and then, it all came rushing back. That sinking feeling that no matter how hard you wanted to understand, you just couldn't. I spent many nights in tears as I stared at a book that just didn't explain it the way I needed it to. I would cry, and call my friends and ask questions, get aggravated with the whole process, and finally do the problems half-ass just so there was something on the paper. Most of my tests and homework came back looking like they had been stabbed repeatedly: red ink, everywhere.
And this girl... was me, 15 years ago. I couldn't help but get a stomach ache, because that was how my body responded to the stress of feeling helpless. I wanted to get up and hug her and tell her that I knew how she felt. But uh, this is college... we don't do that kinda stuff.

By the time I was getting ready to leave, the teacher was pounding her fist and a dry erase marker on the board. She was equally aggravated that the stuff she had been teaching ALL SEMESTER had made no impact on this girl. I'd imagine that would be hard to swallow, but it probably happens a lot too. I got up and left before it got worse, thankful that I had been able to follow along thus far and that I felt okay about the upcoming final. FINALLY... I'm not physically ill over a math class. This is the first (and quite possibly last) time that has ever happened.

I've got my bio final on Tuesday, and algebra on Thursday. I commented the other day that the semester had gone fast. I'm almost not ready for it to end, because that means I have to start taking even harder classes next semester. One semester closer to applying!!