In which I “discover” several cliches
Did I mention that I’m an LSAT teacher? I don’t think I did. But I am—I’ve been teaching a class in Clear Lake for two weeks now. Our third lesson was tonight.
I heart the LSAT. Really I do. I love it even more than I love the SAT, I think, which is saying a lot. The LSAT, for those not-in-the-know, is the test people take to get into law school. It doesn’t test any specific subject matter, but rather general logic skills: reading comprehension, finding flaws in arguments, working out formal logic problems, things like that. Seriously, it’s a riot.
Officially, I don’t think I’m allowed to teach this class. When I auditioned to be a teacher/tutor last summer, I said I wanted to teach both SAT and LSAT, but they said I couldn’t teach LSAT until I’d finished my undergrad. But now we’re short an LSAT teacher, and all my SAT classes are finished, so…presto! And now I teach LSAT.
I was worried at first about how the students would react to being taught by someone younger than they are (or the same age, at best), but the adult students show me more respect than my SAT kids. They know that I’ve never been to law school, taken the real test, or even graduated college, but they also know that I am really good at taking the LSAT, and that I’m there to help them. It rocks.
The difference, I’m sure, is that everyone in the LSAT class is there because they want improve their scores and are willing to work to get there. Most of the SAT students are forced into taking the class by their parents. Some of them do pay attention and put in a good effort, but in every lesson I have to contend with the fact that half of the students would rather be somewhere else (if they are not, in fact, already somewhere else).
The older students do their homework, participate in class, ask good questions, and all the other things that make my job seem less like work and more like happyfun learningtime. I love it!
One thing they’re surprisingly *not* better at than high schoolers is showing up to class on time. At 6:00 this evening, when class was supposed to start, only one student (out of nine) was there. The rest trickled in between 6:02 and 6:30*. I guess lateness is something you don’t grow out of, then. Damn. Damn damn damn.**
The lessons themselves are going swimmingly—I honestly couldn’t be happier. I became a tad discouraged when the first one was a little rough and didn’t flow well. I kept losing my train of thought and having to look back at my book to remember the next point I was going to make. But the second and third lessons? Golden. I knew all their names, I drew diagrams on the board in an order that made sense, I could explain every problem in more than one way…all those things teachers are supposed to do. It was lovely.
After class on Monday I told Wendy how thrilled I was that it had gone well, and she was like, “You should really be a teacher. Seriously.”*** And dude, I should. I want to teach. I need to teach. I need to teach people who want to learn—that’s the hard part, maybe. Or maybe I can take people who don’t want to learn and *make* them want to learn and then I’ll feel all warm and fuzzy inside and then of course I’ll cry when they walk across the stage at graduation, looking forward to hearing of their myriad successes, especially that one kid whom the dark side of suburban life had trodden nearly into the ground who had come thisclose to dropping out in tenth grade but was now on his way to an Ivy League with a full ride and had promised me he’d be a teacher someday, too, as soon as he got out of the Peace Corps, as the music swells around the teary-but-exultant well-wishers crowded into the tiny gymnasium…and fade to black. Or maybe I’m being an idealistic twit.
The point is, I’m not a physicist, and I never will be. I could *teach* physics, but if I had to *do* physics for the rest of my life, I’d throw myself off a bridge. The same goes for math: for me, math is a hobby, not a career. There are more important things in life.
When I was younger (and by younger I mean anywhere from 8 to 15), I always thought I would be famous when I grew up. Famous like Einstein.**** After all, from every direction I heard people telling me I was sooooooo smart and sooooooo special and when I grew up I would of course be a brain surgeon, right? Or maybe a rocket scientist? Probably a rocket scientist, since I could solve those math problems so fast.
In high school I entered (and won) bunches of math competitions, and I had a blast doing it. Math competitions and Quiz Bowl were the highlights of those four years—I loved competing, and I loved a good challenge.
But when I got to college, the math got hard. And the physics got hard. And even the chemistry got hard. But I’m soooooo smart, right? This should be no problem. This is what I love. In reality…not so much. Maybe I could do the work, and maybe I couldn’t, but I didn’t want to. I still don’t. In an abstract, theoretical way, I do, and there are times when I catch just a glimpse of some striking mathematical idea, the pure, overwhelming beauty of which makes me think for a moment that it might all be worth it, but looking at those equations day after day after day is enough to make me want to tear my hair out.
I’ve felt guilty about this, as though I’m not fulfilling my purpose in life. If there are math problems to be solved, and I’m good at math, isn’t it then my *duty* to solve them? In my time off, though, I’ve learned a few things:
- I need to get over myself. I’m not Einstein, or Fermat, or Euler, or who-the-hell-ever. The important problems will get solved whether I work on them or not.
- I don’t owe the world anything. I’m reminded of what Dean Noda told me right before I left school: “Don’t be a slave to your talent.” I will do what makes me happy, and if I happen to be good at it, so much the better.
- It doesn’t matter how famous I am after I’m dead; I won’t be around to enjoy it. Life is about the here and now. Period.
I don’t know what this means my life will look like, specifically, in the long term, but I do know that it’s getting mighty close to registration time for spring semester. Fuckin’ A. I’m almost positive I want to do an off-campus major, which’ll be a bitch to set up from 1500 miles away.
For now, though, life is good. It would be even better with more ice cream in it. Also, more avocados pleasethankyou.
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* One thing I like about the LSAT classes is that we start every class period with a practice test section. That way, when students are late, they aren’t behind on the actual lesson.
** I know, I know, I shouldn’t be defeatist. I’ll keep fighting the lateness, I promise. I’ll punch it right in the nose.
*** Here I’m boiling down maybe an hour of conversation to its essence. I remember this being the jist of it.
**** Yes, I do have a rather overblown opinion of myself. You were expecting…?
Tags: teaching