The Day We Learned How to Solve for X
“Little Buddha Man” didn’t earn such a distinguished jail moniker with just a spherical figure; channeled through a serene demeanor, he possesses an inner calm that elevates him beyond an atmosphere governed by constant chaos. Respectful and diligent, he exudes an earnestness from a wholly different era. His steadying influence on the class—myself included—is so crucial that sometimes I wish he would be in jail for as long as I teach. But ask the judge or the DA and they will only mention a young, violent criminal from the Bronx in need of a real lesson.
As the name would suggest, Little Buddha Man carries a bit of wisdom around the compound. Despite lacking the good sense to keep out of jail, he is wise enough to appreciate schooling, and completes all assignments with minimal coercion. Some student-inmates regard correctional education merely as a recess from their their living hell, but Little Buddha Man understands education as what it is: a solution. He is eager to learn and think, and isn’t afraid to admit as much—a bold feat considering the intellectual caliber of his current social circles. More impressively, his humility allows him to relish and maximize any learning opportunity. He never pretends to know when he does not, and when I edit his writing—hacking and scribbling until it no longer resembles schoolwork but a detailed mechanical diagram —he eggs on. “The more you fix, the more I’ll learn,” Little Buddha Man once tao’ed. “Bring it on, bring it ALL on.”
So I brought it. Working together, we raised his reading score from 8th grade level to 10th grade level in just six months. However, his math scores showed no improvement. Despite months of smuggling math textbooks back to his housing area for self-study, he came up short again in the practice GED (General Educational Development) test. It was baffling to see him struggle with basic math questions. Even though I am not his math teacher, we decided to squeeze in one-on-one math tutoring whenever possible in preparation for the upcoming GED exam:
“Lil’ Buddha Man, they’re always going to ask you to solve for X in the GED math test. Do you know how?”
Motionless, his eyes exhaled, No.
“Alright. All you have to do is do whatever it takes to isolate “X” on one side of the equation. When you have “X” by itself in an equation like “X= Yada yada minus baby mama yada yada, you have the answer.”
Little Buddha Man’s eyes agreed. Or blinked, Or both.
“Now, do you know how to get all the crap all one side of the equation?”
He peered past me, over towards the mountains framed by a fenced window. No.
“Ok, whatever. Let’s just try one. Look at this bad boy right here: 4X -15=45. How do we isolate X? Simple. We just cancel, cancel, cancel. We cancel things out.
If it’s minus 15, we add 15, but remember to add to both sides because this is an EQUAtion. If it’s 4 times, we divide by four, again to both side. We just keep canceling, and canceling until only X remains. Got it?”
“X=15!”
“Yes sir, Lil’ Buddha Man. Let’s do another one, this time showing work.”
“Nah. I got this. Cake.”
“Son, you got nothing but a bad math score. Let’s kee….”
“Teach’, I got this. I know how to do this. Let’s move on, I don’t got time. Math ain’t that hard; I ain’t stupid. It’s just that all this time no one ever explained to me how to do things like formulas or this canceling shit. That’s why I always just always did whatever on the tests.”
“Whatever, dude. If that’s the case, what the hell did your high school math teacher teach?”
“I never had a math teacher in high school.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, I had like 2 periods of English, 2 periods of social studies, P.E., science, and stupid shit like that but no math.”
“Moron! You know you really screwed yourself for not knowing how to properly register for classes, you…”
“Yo! I didn’t pick my classes. That’s everyone’s schedule. Nobody had math in my school.”
“What?!”
“Yeah, all the math teachers either kept quitting or kept getting fired at my school. None of them lasted more than a few days. So no one ever took math in my high school. I ain’t even playing with you. It’s crazy. I took 3/12 years of high school and not one math class. Crazy. Craaaaaazy shit I tell you.”
Though unsurprising–our urban public school system has long exhausted its ability to shock with its idiocies–it’s nevertheless infuriating. As his longtime wingman at the knowledge bar, I too begin to feel the indignation of a forgotten, invisible man.
“So, when was the last time you had a math teacher?”
“Uh….7th grade, I guess.”
Unsure to whether offer encouragement, assignment, or incitement, I keep mum and observe as his eyes return to the math workbook, in search of another math concept he couldn’t comprehend. Little Black Buddha, like anyone growing up, thirsts deeply to learn new information in a quest to decipher and navigate his surroundings. But youthful learning isn’t a solo activity; it is a samba dance between the knowledge source and the learner in a series of give and take, communication and readjustments. Drawing an impotent dance partner with his Bronx man luck, Little Buddha Man danced alone. And as I watch him jot down a litany of questions, I couldn’t help but wonder how his world today would differ if he had learned from a more nurturing environment—namely, a school that challenged and satiated young minds. Or at least taught math.
Would he still return to the streets, or would he be in college? Does he stay up at night dreaming up countless career paths as he decides on a university major, or does he once again stay up to figure out which new inmate to fight for that extra cookie?
Education isn’t everything, but it does beacon the many exclusive life-paths otherwise unattainable by those shoved through a failed school system. Their time lost, and possibilities, once boundless, are now rigidly defined. The question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” may no longer inspire buoyed optimism but crippling diffidence. Imperceptible until too late, an appalling school system continues to erode countless children’s right to dream, to hope.
I decided to incite.
“We’ve got to cancel this thing out, Little Buddha Man.”
“Huh? Which page, what number are you on?”
“I’m not doing a problem. let’s do that tomorrow. I’m talking about this effin’ no-math-since-7th-grade BS.”
“Chill, Teach’. How?”
“You tell me. You’re the math genius without a math teacher.”
“Psshh. Uh, hmm….Well I guess like you said, if you want to cancel shit, you cancel by adding to what was missing, and taking away what was too much. Until everything zeroes out. Shit like that…
And Yo! You know what? Think bout’ it: we actually kinda solved an equation today, the X being me and shit. Or maybe just my algebra skills. You feel me? We canceled out me not having a math teacher for that day. We canceled shit by adding shit to negative shit. Ya heard?”
Loud and clear, my Little Buddha Man.
