A Math Valentine

I had a sub on Thursday, and the students’ assignment was a Valentine’s Card using math vocabulary (and the math terms underlined).

Here are some of the all-stars. Click on the first one to see a slideshow.

This is proof that this boy will make a great husband someday.

This is from a sweet boy with a huge head.

Yeesh. This one didn’t make me worry as much as it could have.

To my dear sister,

Not bitter at all

To their teddy bear,

To their future boyfriend,

The themselves in the future,

To KFC,

To Ms. Mitchell,

To my cousin,

I love you like a coefficient loves its variable.

This one is only funny because the student is bisexual, and she calls her girlfriend the perfect bi-nomial.

Get it? Ice-Cube!

Our love is like an irrational equation; it can’t be simplified.

This one made me LOL. I have students now that understand sarcasm.

Happy Valentime’s Day

So, I stole a few lines, and here is a letter to my wife, the lovely and talented Andrea Vaudrey (with the math terms underlined):

To my Valentine:
Our love is like an irrational equation; it can’t be simplified.
You are a factor of my life.
If we distribute our love, we can be together forever. Together, we make a perfect square.
I love you like a coefficient loves its variable.
You are the square to my root, the solution to all of my equations. The slope of my love for you is ever increasing.
We fit together like coordinates on an axis.
You are the solution to my New Year’s resolution. Our love is a slope that increases with all my hope that is so dope.
I less than three you.
For my love, like pi, is neverending.

Happy Valentime’s Day.

~Matt

UPDATE Feb 20, 2012: Thanks to Scoop.it for featuring this post, and for opening my eyes to what a fabulous online magazine you are.

The New Regular Day

My wife asks every day how my day was, and a common response is “regular”. It’s not a dynamic way to start my response, but I’m quite thankful for my new job, and “regular” doesn’t mean what it used to. My wife probably got tired of hearing “stressful, exhausting, frustrating, and I wanna quit” when asking about my day.

Also, I love that a “regular” day still involves me laughing during every class. How many of us have jobs where you get a good laugh every couple hours?

Here are a couple all-stars from today:

Carl: I’m a vegan now.
Trey: You hate meat!
Linda: Why do you hate meat?
Julia: I thought vegans were hippies.
Mr. Vaudrey: Okay, everyone stop. Carl, explain what a vegan is.
Carl: Well, I can’t eat things with dairy in them, like bread, like pizza, like chocolate…
Ladariana: …like La-Dairy-ana.

Nathan: Aw! You gave me dumb crayons! I want the blue one, not the black one.
Jay (in his best tough-guy voice): Was’ wrong wit’ black?!

(It should be noted that Jay is about 70 pounds, has braces, glasses, a super smile, brags about his mom’s cooking, and takes Gifted classes. He’s not quite a thug.)

Sam: Mr. Vaudrey, I’m out of bathroom passes, so can I, like, stay a minute after class or something? I really gotta go.

See? Even a “regular” day is delightful.

Also, it took me about 21 seconds to submit my grades. No printing, no signing, no amendments or second-guessing. I love my new job.

In closing, here’s a photo of some actual work I did today.

I should probably explain…

In my job, I banter with students quite a bit. I record a lot of their chatter on my computer–it makes for good writing later.

Avery: None of the solutions work!
Vaudrey: You have to show your work on paper. Paper is smarter than your brain.
Daniel: Nuh-uh! Paper is made out of trees and trees aren’t smart.
Vaudrey: I know that, I mean your brain is smarter on paper.
Victor: Your brain can’t get out of your body or you die.

Mark: Mr. Vaudrey, I heard about this guy on the History channel who ran, um, from San something all the way to LA without stopping. It was like three marathons in a row.
Nymnh: Duh, it’s called Forrest Gump.
Vaudrey: Forrest Gump is a fictional story.
Nymnh: No! Then why is there Bubba Gump Shrimp Company?

This particular short post isn’t about those, however. On Wednesday (before Nancy’s Christmas gift on Friday), Jasmine came into my class and said, “I brought the shirt!”

Now before you write angry comments about what a terrible person I am, there is a backstory:

In my class of Honors students, I permit a little more time for non-math chatter because the actual math doesn’t take them as long as the other classes. I permit some chatter in all my classes because I want students on my side. One day in the Honors class went like this:

Vaudrey: Good morning, first period. This is as loud as I can talk, so go easy on me today.
Student 1: What’s wrong?
Vaudrey: Eh, I’m just a little sick.
Student 2: You should stay home!
Vaudrey: I could, but it’s easier just to come in. Besides, who would teach the class?
Student 3: I would!
Student 2: When we’re sick, we stay home.
Vaudrey: Well… I’m more important than you.

This, of course, was met with rolling in the aisles and several rounds of “Aw, naw!” We all had a little chuckle and Jasmine’s shrill voice rang out.

Jasmine: I’m gonna put that on a T-shirt!

Several more guffaws and rounds of “I’ll buy that shirt!” and the class went on to discuss the addition of polynomials.

Well, a few weeks later, I got a homemade Christmas present that I wore proudly all day.

Here’s the front of it.

Obviously, I explained the shirt to every teacher, student, and staffer that saw it. As a stand-alone article, I probably won’t wear it to the mall or anything, but as a student gift, it’s fabulous.

And if she thought I meant what i said, she wouldn’t have made the shirt.

Nancy’s Christmas Gift

(Names and details have been changed for confidentiality.)

“…and was recently examined for ADHD.”

I lean back at my desk with relief and close the e-mail. I wonder if she got prescribed anything. Maybe that will calm her down.

That’s the problem with students like Nancy—they really challenge your teaching philosophy.

On the one side, I want all of my students to succeed and learn Algebra in my class. On the other hand, I would secretly love for a test to render Nancy a “Special-Ed” label, so she could have an aide to supervise her, or (even easier) get her out of my class. About 92% of me wants her to succeed in my class with no help.

But that 8% of me… oh, I hope for a release from her yelling, leaving her desk, poking other students, standing next to me during a lesson with her hand up, and other impulsive middle-schooler behaviors. But that 8% is present in every one of my sighs, every exasperated response, and every time I rub my temples as she asks, “Mr. Vaudrey, am I annoying?”

Yes, Nancy. Yes.

You annoy me and every other student in the class when you call out to them across the room during a test, when you ask questions to people who aren’t even looking at you, and especially when you monitor who’s next for the bathroom pass. You’re annoying when you proclaim that you’ll buy students expensive birthday gifts, but never follow through.

It’s annoying, even though I’m pretty sure your mom is unemployed, and your promise to buy Brandon an iPad is all pomp to mask the shame.

Nancy’s mom is baffled at how to control her. There are rumors that she has Nancy stand in the corner for hours at a time just so she can have some peace. The staff at school isn’t sure where Dad is, but we know that the family doesn’t have much money. Nancy waited weeks to get glasses and didn’t bring any of the four items she promised for the class party.

So it’s Thursday before Winter Break. Nancy comes to my class before school starts.

“Good morning, Nancy. You’re about 5 hours early to class.”

She smiles, shuffles her feet and avoids eye contact. “Um… Mr. Vaudrey? Like… my mom works at Nordstrom’s and… um… I didn’t know what to get you… so… um… like, we… uh. We got you this.” She holds out a small, unassuming gift bag with a bent tag and a card. To: Mr. Vaudrey. From: Nancy.

“Thank you, Nancy! This is the first gift I’ve gotten this year. Thank you very much.” I shake her hand and hold the gift still, hoping to signal to her that it’s polite to leave after you give a gift. She gets the hint and clumps off to first period in her too-big shoes.

Back behind my desk, I open the card first, like the good boy my mother raised. The card, written in Nancy’s pointed scrawl says, “Mr. Vaudrey thank you very much for help me in my work and helping me be a good person inclass.”

I peel back the tissue paper. Inside the bag are cologne samples from Nordstrom’s.

From a low-income family who wanted to give a gift to their daughter’s teacher.

First Day of School

 7:25 a.m. August 10^th, 2011

I’m dazed. Feel like I’m dehydrated, but I know I’m not. My mouth is dry and my tongue has the bitter taste that one gets before throwing up. I had to pull over in Etiwanda to have an emergency bathroom break and my stomach continues to curdle.

All this after four years of teaching, the first day of year five—year five—in the classroom, and 25 thirteen-year-olds still make me nervous on the first day of school.

And this morning felt like I was force-feeding myself. Every bite of granola I had to wash down with apple juice.

Since I was a kid, I’ve gotten anxious before big events. I can recall having to pull over on the way to the city-wide 12K when I was in middle school. Recently, when I climbed Mt. San Gorgonio, I had to squat in the snow on the side of highway 38 and wipe with snow.

It was tingly.

I wonder if taking something would make these days easier. I’d still be anxious, but at least I wouldn’t need to pull over at a Shell station to take care of some business.

And now I’m about to arrive to work 20 minutes later than I wanted to get there. It’s not bad—I only have a few things left to do that will probably take about five minutes before students arrive. But still, it’s a bit nerve-wracking.

7:42 a.m.

The new job didn’t become real until I arrived on campus and heard the first pre-teen girl hugging her friend and creaming “Omigaaaaaawd! How was your summerrrrrrrr?”

Up until then, I thought Hey, I got offered a new job, I might take it.

Or This job sounds real good, it’s got high pay. Maybe I should check it out.

It’s now my new job; I work at Mountain View Middle School.

I am Mr. Vaudrey. The math teacher.

4:47 p.m.

This morning, I saw a pack of boys as I walked by, and they gave me “the eye”.

I used to see “the eye” when I was a student in middle school, and packs sought to pick on me. It means that the pack is sizing you up for weaknesses, seeing if they can pick on you to make themselves feel better. Even though I’m now older and smarter and bigger and stronger than they are, I still get the eye because they’re in a pack and I’m by myself.

Just after I pass them, I hear one of the pack yell, “Hey, you a teacher?”

And I know the game. I know they’re looking for a way to bend me around their will, and thus, take some of the power from me, the teacher. So without stopping, I turn slightly and say “Yep.”

“Well, what’s your name?” Now the whole pack is watching.

I quickly turn around and beckon the vocal student to walk with me. “What?” I beckon again and keep walking.

I know that, if I stop walking, then he is the cause of my stop. It sounds trivial. It sounds like nothing—but then he just made a teacher do something. He was in control, he bent the grown-up to his will.

I can hear him scampering behind me and as I round a corner of a building, he tries again, “Wait! What’s your name?”

I wave again and say, “Walk with me.”

He looks back at his friends, looks at me, and says, “Naw, I’m okay.” And returns to the pack.

I continue to my class and permit myself a smug grin. I won.