jumpingfish

1. Precalculus

Abraham came to class every day, always on time. He paid close attention from his seat at the back of the room. He took notes. He wasn’t afraid to ask questions. He did the practice problems and meticulously showed his work. Still, his test scores were mediocre. He was putting in a huge effort, and as I found out from his mom, he was considering dropping down to grade-level next year. She asked me to help him decide what to do.

One day when he was in my room during lunch, I walked over and sat nearby. We talked about his schedule, about what he thought he might like to do after high school, and about how to go about choosing classes for next year. The conversation only obliquely touched on the question of advanced vs. grade-level. Mostly we discussed the various options.

A few weeks later he told me that he signed up for AP Precalculus. I smiled. He smiled his smirky smile. 

2. Early Fibonacci

That was months ago—January or February.

A week ago, as the due date for their Fibonacci Numbers Projects was nearing, he came into the room. This was a project for which they produced booklets about Fibonacci Sequences including excursions into nature and art and goings on in other parts of the world in Fibonacci’s time. It wasn’t a huge amount of technical work, but I had a very specific grading rubric, and I cautioned them not to be late. Abraham walked in, smiled at me from the doorway, and put his completed booklet into the purple turn-in box by the door.

“With a week to go, even!” I said.

“Right?” he said, smiling that smirky smile. 

3. Wrangling with Logs

We finish Advanced Algebra 2 with a unit on exponential functions and logarithms.

It needs to be said: logarithmic notation is horribly confusing. It’s unlike anything the kids have seen before. I tell them that and that they don’t need to feel bad if they get confused. We work into the subject incrementally. Still, many of the students struggle.

On Wednesday, Abraham came into class to turn in a worksheet that involved serious wrangling of logs. He turned it into the purple box. 

“Mr. Hasan?” he asked as he walked over to where I was standing at my desk.

“Yes?”

“Are we going to do more difficult log problems this year?” wearing that smirky smile.

I laughed and said, “No.”

It seems that his choice of AP Precalculus was the right decision.

#silentsunday

#silentsunday

Jackson was loud. His low, raspy voice would wake you up as good as coffee. It must have done that with the students in his math classes. And his athletes at practice.

He could get the kids to listen. With his booming voice, he would coax them to the whiteboard where they would solve math problems that he lobbed at them. Can you imagine? Teenagers at the board. Standing in front of peers. Doing algebra for all to see.

He was the first teacher I met here after I decided to teach. While I was still an intern, he enthusiastically welcomed me into his room and showed me how it all worked. It was loud. He wrote on the board in big sweeping strokes, slamming the markers as the math streamed out. He would turn on a dime and spring questions on the kids to check their learning. And if necessary, he’d slow down or do it again. Years later, when I emailed him to let him know I was applying to Austin High for a math job, even his reply was loud: joyful and welcoming and loud.

Since I’ve been working here, he has been my permission slip to not overthink things. He has answered weekend texts. He has checked up on me during the day. He has been my exemplar on how to reach kids. The job was easy, he would say — easy if you focused on doing right by them. Which is what he did every single day. And now he’s gone.

We will miss him very, very much.

“Mr. Hasan?” 

An algebra student was walking from the doorway to the front of the room, where I was standing at my desk.

“Yes?”

“Would you like a ham and cheese croissant?” 

“What!? Yes! What’s the occasion?”

“Valentine’s Day, Mr Hasan!”

“Oh gosh. Thank you.”

I so needed something like that.