This weekend was quite the weekend for me, and in between all the madness, I caught a glimpse of my best friend’s little sister’s algebra homework. This, of course, brought back terrible memories, but there was one memory among the Willy-Wonka’s-horrifying-boat-ride-montage that struck a chord of fond nostalgia.
It goes way back, all the way back to kindergarten where little mushroom/bowl-cut Ketaki first learned how to read. I adored reading, I still do, but I also liked it so much as a child because I was good at it. It wasn’t altogether frustrating, and in the times that it was, I was just so curious to see how the story would end, or if the little bird finally found out who his mother was, that I would somehow piece words and figure it out. Reading was fun, but unfortunately, kindergarten could not just be reading for me.
The numbers eventually caught up to me, and it was glaringly obvious, even at a young age, that this interaction with numbers was going to be tough love. Numbers frustrated me to no end, and I still remember a day when I thought my head was going to slide off my shoulders. I’m sure that at the time, younger me probably thought it was close to the end of the world.
As a child, numbers felt like those days you went to school and it was the same setting, the same people, but you felt foreign. Not a great feeling, but I was fortunate enough to have an amazing teacher to whom I credit many things.
I don’t know if she remembers this, but it is one of my fondest childhood memories of my kindergarten teacher, Ms. Migdalia. Ms. Migdalia is the teacher every kindergartener needed, from her warm smiles to her never-ending patience, and the amount of effort she puts in is one that reflects just how lucky I was to have her as my first teacher.
Like I said, I was good at the language arts, but math was a challenge I couldn’t wrap my head around, and at one point it felt like I was going to implode. That was the day Ms. Migdalia took note of my frustration, and in what was the kindest gesture, took my hand and took me to the field outside of our classroom. Although it was just a moment to decompress, ruminate a little less, it was also a moment that we took to count some wildflowers. Maybe they were little daisies, my mind isn’t that clear, but it felt less daunting and more approachable.
Learning something frustrating by approaching it in a loveable way helped me in various ways. It causes you to stop and think, “are there better ways to solve this problem?” Sometimes there are, and sometimes there aren’t, but on the times that there are better ways, it makes the problem seem more like an overcast day than a nerve-wracking stormy day.
I think about this memory every now and then. When I encounter a math problem I can’t do and Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” loses its meaning and becomes white noise, I’m reminded of Ms. Migdalia and her endearing ways of teaching.
So to Ms. Migdalia, thank you, for teaching me the importance of not giving up on myself, learning to look at challenges a little differently, and most of all for showing me that patience is really the key to learning -- and teaching.
Happy Women's History month everyone, and thank you to all the amazing, empowering women who have inspired and influenced me.
