Wednesday, August 13, 2014

1+1=2

Ever take the GRE's? Or even worse, the Miller's Analogies? Both tests saw off the top of your skull, pull your brain out and squeeze it like a sponge, then return it. I took the GRE's a long time ago when I was thinking about getting a CAGS degree after I was out of RIC for a couple of years. Good thing I didn't as talk therapy was about to be destroyed by the Pharmaceutical industry by providing pills for every malady. This would make life more profitable for health insurance companies, who hated the idea of financing years long, weekly sessions costing them ever more and more.

The GRE's, then, were in three parts, language, mathematical and logical reasoning. How did I do? I am proud to say I scored a standard deviation and some ABOVE everyone else on the language part, the mean on math and I was shocked to see I did horribly on the logical reasoning with a standard deviation below. I wasn't happy about that. I was weak in that section but didn't know how weak. The language part was easy for me. That's my gift, talent I guess. I can still read Chaucer's Canterbury Tales in the original Middle English. I can't do math in my head though, I need pencil and paper or a calculator and I'll get to that in a minute. Here's something cool. English wasn't the English you and I speak today.

Whan that aprill with his shoures soote     When April's gentle rains have pierced the drought
The droghte of march hath perced           of March right to the root, and bathed each sprout
to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour     through every vein with liquid of such power
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;       it brings forth the engendering of the flower;
Whan zephirus eek with his sweete           When Zephyrus too with his sweet breath has blown
breeth 
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth        Through every field and forest, urging on
Tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne       the tender shoots, and then there's a youthful sun
Hath in the ram his halve cours yronne,     His second half course through the Ram now run
And smale foweles maken melodye,           and little birds make melody.

That's how they spoke back then. It sounded like this: “The droughty of March hath pierce-ed to the rooty. And bath-ed every veiny in sweech licore.”

Anyways...I did well with languages. Math on the other hand I sucked at or at least barely manage to pass throughout my school career. The reason? Shitty math teachers. I sat down one time and compared my grades to the teachers I liked vs. the ones I hated. The ones I liked I did fairly well, the ones I hated? Awful. There were more awful than liked.

I hope things have changed. My experience with math teachers was that they were the shortest tempered, impatient and cruelest beings on the Earth. I can point to ONLY two math types I have met that were completely perfect.

I can remember this in second grade from our teacher who shouted, “You got it WRONG!!” That was followed by having to back up and and redo the problem as she/he would find out that you didn't know the procedure to find parts A and B which got you to C. Then there was more complaining from the teacher.

The WORST teacher in math I had and I'll name him here, Richard Pascucci, was a piece of work. In Saint Ray's many of us had to take him for geometry, B level (college prep) with it's geometrical proofs. Seeing this again makes me hug my math PTSD even tighter.



Pretty much every Friday we'd have a test on the week's past work. On the following Monday we'd get the tests back and he'd go over each problem on how to solve it.

I remember this distinctly one Monday morning. It was first period and we were all sitting there waiting for Pascucci to arrive.

“What do you think he'll bitch about today?” asked one of us.

I say: “Oh, he'll come in, blow half the class telling us all what idiots we are for failing Friday's test.”

Some others of the class turned towards me with that knowing look in their faces.

Soon arrives Pascucci. He walks in, drops a bundle of papers on his desk with a THUMP. Those were the corrected tests and then says:

“I spent A WHOLE WEEK trying to explain to you how to do this! What more can I do? Over HALF of you FAILED the test!! What is it? Are you even AWAKE? HUH?” Pascucci didn't even bother to hide his disgust for us.

He then tries out a new teaching resource, colored chalk.

We go through each question and with various colors, he spells out the logic behind these proofs and how to conclude them. The chalk didn't help matters at all as I found out from several others. As we filed out into the hallway after the bell rang, someone behind me chirps up; “Duhhhh, we 'tards can now better understand this with the pretty colors!”

Pascucci should have never been a teacher or perhaps he was the worst example of a typical math teacher of the time. Either way, I hated his guts.

Years later, I had to take a required statistics course for my major in psychology. All science, including social sciences, are really math in the end. I was to learn about correlation coefficients, Spearman Rho's, regression analysis and degrees of freedom. I knew I was going to pass with barely a C- in this course and that would mean struggling to attain that.

But, what luck. It was taught by Earl Simpson. This guy could explain Einstein to a 10 year old and make it reasonable. I sat there, understanding without too much difficulty, every concept behind statistics, the formulas and how to design tests. I came away from that course with a new idea. Perhaps I didn't organically suck at math? Perhaps if I had the right teachers it would've made the difference. Why was it that I could grasp some of the middling to higher ideas of statistics when just a few short years earlier, I thought I was borderline DUH when it came to math? By the end of Simpson's course, we were into number theory and using the then new fractal geometry to design psych tests. I “got it” without that much trauma.

**

Want to torture yourself for a bit? Here's a link to a Miller's Analogies test. You know the set up.

Dog is to cat as night is to......


But watch out...it gets viscous as you go further on.

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