As a student, if I got a good report card, I was allowed to order whatever I wanted from Dairy Queen instead of the usual five Dilly Bars for $1 that my family always got. While it was kind of exciting to choose something from the large menu, I realized that while banana splits sound extravagant, the bananas are a mushy mess that distracts from the ice cream.
I decided the smart kids could have them, and ignored my mediocre grades and discounted Dilly Bar.
For the past few years I have been a tutor at Guardian Catholic School. Although I had some experience as a substitute teacher, I was hesitant to take on this volunteer role because I did not want to be the reason a struggling student fell even further behind. In short, I did not want to fail.
I knew failure as a student. My problems with math began in third grade and reached their peak when I failed algebra in ninth grade. I remember the pleading looks from teachers and tutors after they explained a lesson. It was as if they believed that if they just stared at me long and hard enough, I would understand how to simplify a fraction, multiply crosswise, or take the square root.
Instead, I just nodded at them with a weak, embarrassed smile; their intense gazes made me too uncomfortable to even think about mathematics.
Sister Susan Reineck, who runs the tutoring program at Guardian, is very different. She is soft-spoken and encouraging. I have watched her teach. She doesn’t rush or shame students. She is patient and calm, and starts where students are, not where they should be.
I have benefited from her instruction in teaching techniques and am impressed by her competence and how competent she makes others feel. I sometimes wonder if I would have struggled as much in math if I had had someone as patient and resourceful as Sister Susan.
When I tutor, I try to take into account my own negative experiences. I don’t correct every mispronounced word. I try to think of fun or creative ways to explain the different meanings of words and the emotions associated with them. I almost always show her pictures of my pets or tell a funny story from my life. We talk about our families, her best friend, places she’s visited, and where she wants to go to high school.
We write summaries of the pages we read, and for weeks we practiced a speech she had to give in one of her classes—writing it, rewriting it, learning to carry her soft voice to the back row where I sat cheering. I once read her a column I had written that appeared in the newspaper, and she seemed impressed.
I laughed at their sweet comments, but secretly they made me proud – and taught me that you never outgrow encouragement.
Occasionally we have to do math. Although it is still challenging, she and I do the problems together – we learn from each other in the best way possible (though I do occasionally text my husband to confirm that we are going in the right direction). Sometimes I still worry that I am not good enough and that she could get further with someone else’s guidance.
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But then I remember that life isn’t just about passing or failing; it’s a bit of both. And maybe we don’t have to be so afraid of failure after all.
Mistakes, whether in math or in life, are always our best teachers. It’s not that failing algebra made me understand things better, it’s just that it taught me something far more useful – namely, the importance of being kind to yourself and others when working on difficult problems. I may not have always figured out the unknown I was trying to solve, but I did learn what it wasn’t.
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I have learned that our worth is not defined by how well we do in academia or our professional lives, or how we measure up in the maze of measurement. Our lives have a God-given value that no mathematics in the world can reduce or even quantify. When we appreciate the infinite value of that in our fellow human beings, our ability to understand each other grows exponentially.
When compassion is part of the equation, the answers are no longer static. They endure.
If, in a few years, all I have taught this young girl is the importance of having someone by her side as she looks for solutions, considers different variables, and ultimately finds her own answer, then I will have done something far more important than improving her reading skills.
However, if all she remembers is the lady with the silly stories and random animal pictures who showed up every week simply because she believed in her worth, then I still taught her something valuable. That’s worth at least as much to me as a Dilly Bar.
Lara Patangan is an inspirational author and speaker who writes about faith at LaraPatangan.com. Her first book, Simple Mercies, is available now.
This guest column reflects the opinion of the author and does not necessarily reflect the views of the Times-Union. We welcome diversity of opinion.
