I’ve received one week of physics instruction. On the first day, I entered the lab and quickly noticed every seat was occupied with the exception of one in the back row. After taking the seat, I sized up the group. Clearly, I am the oldest. My past experience (working for years in a high school) allowed me to fairly accurately identify the majority of attendees as eighteen-year-olds.
Class began with a long dissertation presented by our instructor on class protocol. A full five minutes was allotted to the need to turn off cell phones while class is in session. Students are not allowed to use their laptops either; apparently in the last semester, there was an epidemic of facebook and email access during lectures with the consequence of numerous failures. The teacher then continued to explain the university electronic communication system, Blackboard. Upon finishing he asked: “Are there any questions? Has everyone here accessed Blackboard?”
Silence. Not one word was uttered. After what seemed to be a full, uncomfortable minute, he turned directly to me, made eye contact – along with most of the other student eyeballs (those that had not glazed over into a stupor) - and asked me, “Miss, do you understand how to use Blackboard?”
I am thinking: What ... are the words “village idiot” tattooed across my forehead? I felt a flush of warmth take a strangle hold through the neck area before creeping up to my cheekbones. Geez – this is going to be fun. I had not accessed the communication system but do you think I wanted to ask a question … with all eyes on me?
“No,” I responded, “but, I’ll figure it out.”
I promise I kept the sarcastic edge out of my voice. In my heart, I believed the neon tattoo was not the words” village idiot” but instead, AGE. I wanted to be a smart aleck and announce: Why yes, I’ve taken this course forty times and I am still struggling! For certain, my competitive spirit was awakened as the teacher continued by announcing that we will be graded on the “Bell curve”, I was secretly plotting how much study time I needed to put in so as to blow these kids out of the water.
Okay, settle down, an inner voice reproached, be nice.
The truth is: I will have a lot of studying to do. Although the metric system is the system of choice in the world (even in the U.S. metrics is the quantitative system of science and international commerce) I have resisted learning. I have not even acknowledged the need. Well, that fantasy is over; to complete the math necessary for this class, I have to know it.
Students were assigned lab partners for our first assignment. Mine is an exuberant young man who was thrilled to show me the ropes of math computation. Upon completion of this preliminary project, this whippersnapper signed “our” lab with a flourish while stating: “I’ll help you with any math questions.” He slid the paper to me and as I signed my name to the sheet, I knew that I had no idea what “we” had just completed.
After class I walked (no, the truth is I sprinted) across the campus to the tutorial learning lab located in the library. My shoulders were tight and the math anxiety knot in the pit of my stomach was tightening. Signing up for help was emotionally uncomfortable. I was embarrassed as I asked the young man behind the desk, “Do you have a person who could tutor me in physics?”
He flipped through a few papers on a clipboard checking which tutors were on duty before answering, “I can’t help you but Sheng-Li is in the lab. He’s assisting another person right now, if you don’t mind waiting, he will be able to help.” He pointed toward the glass door, “Inside each table is labeled with the subject. He will come to you.”
In the far corner of the room, there was the word “Physics” printed in bold type on a card that dangled from a string fastened to the ceiling. Each time the lab door opened, the card gently swayed. I took my seat at the empty table. As I waited my turn, I considered the many students I had sent for remedial help as an English teacher. A lot of them must have felt what I was feeling. Asking for help is humbling; there is a component of self doubt – a self questioning of personal ability. A bit of panic set in.
What am I doing? There is the possibility to drop the course and receive a full refund if I take this action by next Monday.
Sheng-Li interrupted my thoughts, “You have a physics question?” He asked before taking the seat next to me.
I nodded and blurted, “I attended my first class and I am overwhelmed. I do not know the metric system. I have never converted numbers to a Scientific Notation, “I paused to take a breath.
He quietly considered me before reacting to my outburst, “You will be fine. You will like using metrics. The system is beautiful. How many inches are there in a foot?”
“Twelve,” I said relieved that I could answer this first question.
“How many inches in a yard?”
“Thirty-six.”
“Twelve, thirty-six … messy, messy, messy,” he smiled as he talked. “You will love the metric system. You can work with large numbers and always have the perfectly easy zero to manipulate. It is elegant.” As he said this, his arms opened, extending out from his body as if encompassing the entirety of the Milky Way galaxy. I got the impression that he believed if he could convince me, I would be able to consider the mysteries of the universe.
He proceeded to tell me that I could master this unit of measurement. Not only that, but I would be able to convert a number to a Scientific Notation with a simple two-step process. He knew that I would find using the powers of 10 clear, concise and neat. I liked him. He actually blushed when speaking to me; perhaps at his enthusiasm or perhaps because in the Chinese culture conversing to me with such exuberance – a person he considered an elder – made him uncomfortable.
“You can do this,” he affirmed. “You are a competent person. Put the study time in and you will be successful.”
That brief fifteen minutes with Sheng-Li gave me confidence. I left the library feeling good. Normal people can master physics. Later that evening, upon reflection, I began to question why I could not relax and simply enjoy learning. Why do I have to be at the top of the class? In the past, I had set up a scenario for success … I am heavily weighted in the humanities because I only took classes in which I could stand out. As a retired person, I no longer need to prove anything. There is no reason to feel competitive (if there ever really was one).
Then I had an epiphany… also at the crux of my insecurity was my inability to accept age; to be specific, my age. There are advantages, aside from the senior tuition discount; I am at a place in life where I can learn for the joy of knowing. This is an elegant thought.
On Thursday, the second session of class, I was surprised that there were only fifteen of us present. Apparently, I was not the only person intimidated. I sat down in the half empty third row with a sense of pride … pride that I had decided not to quit. (I also reconsidered how many hours of study it would take to excel – ah; some traits are going to take more work to put aside.)
That night, as I listened to a Van Morrison song; his mellow, rich, gravelly voice captured my heart and mind.
Village idiot, simple mind
Village idiot, he does know something
But he's just not saying
Don't you know he's onto something
You can see it, you can see it in his eyes
Sometimes he looks so happy
As he goes strolling by
Oh village idiot, he's complicated
Village idiot, he's got a simple mind
Village idiot, must know something
But he's just not saying
(Lyrics from Village Idiot written/performed by Van Morrison)
Village idiot, he does know something
But he's just not saying
Don't you know he's onto something
You can see it, you can see it in his eyes
Sometimes he looks so happy
As he goes strolling by
Oh village idiot, he's complicated
Village idiot, he's got a simple mind
Village idiot, must know something
But he's just not saying
No comments:
Post a Comment