First Grades

So last week I was feeling a little stressed. I had my first big paper due AND my first math test. Yesterday I walk into my math class, only to hear the teacher tell us we would get our tests back at the end. My heart was pounding the whole hour.

A little backround: Math and I have not ever been friends. Not Christmas card friends, and certainly not, "Hi, how are ya" friends. I can't even work a calculator, let alone do the problems in my head. A good example of our relationship would be me in seventh grade (oddly enough, being taught the same things then that I am being taught now), reading "Jurassic Park" rather than listening to Mrs. Hoskins explain cross multiplication of fractions. The idea of a common denominator was completely lost on me. Instead of learning the basic number laws that rule the universe, I turned to literary studies and instead learned that the book is invariably better than the movie.

But this class has been a new experience. I listen. I take notes (for which I will be handsomely paid at the end of the semester - long story). I do all the homework long before it is due. And do you want to know something amazing? It paid off. I, she who is not on speaking terms with numbers whole or fractal, earned 100% on my very first college math test!!! For some of you, this will not be a big shock. But it was for me. The teacher handed me my paper and merely said, while waving the white thing around, "This one is smokin'." I thought i would burst from my earthly bindings and flutter about the ceiling with happiness.

But then, the next day (today, actually) I had to endure the feeling of aprehension again while awaiting the return of my New Criticism Essay. Went to class. I suffered through a discussion of the "symbols" in the A & P (those are sarcastic, quotes, by the way). I challenged the teacher for a moment, which by now i actually believe she expects of me, and the time finally came. She began walking back and forth across the front of the room, calling out name after name . . .though none of them mine. She must have gone through three full stacks of papers (how many people were in this class, anyway!?), before finally making her way to me and slowly handing me my paper. No eye contact. That wasn't a good sign.

Sure, so far I had done well in this class. I'd even been doing remarkably well in my other Lit class, but I am not well known for my essay writing. I'm not even badly known for my essay writing. Limrick writing, sure. But essays: Nope. So here it was, the moment of truth (in my mind). My heart had stopped it's crazy pacings within my chest and remained stock still while my lungs refused to breathe until the eyes beheld . . ."100/100 - You were the only one that picked up on the sexual metaphor. Excellent!" (Teisha, I know you are giggling.) Again, the beatings resumed and air was allowed into my lungs. My actual thoughts at that moment were, "No freaking way!" But really, I was not going to argue.

The moral of this story? If I work hard, I discover great things about myself and my abilities. How wonderful is it to find out that I am smart. I have things to say and for some reason, people want to hear them. I don't believe that anyone's merit can be measured and placed before them to see, but I do believe in the value of reminder. 100% on a math test means very little in the long run, but being reminded that I rock never gets old. Nope. Not ever.

This means I have an answer to my "random question" that is found in my profile: To remind myself that I have the ability and talent for logical thought and that some day I will be able to apply that knowledge in a more celestial sphere.