"Dream no small dreams for they have no power to move the hearts of men."
-- Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

math?  I think it does – even though no one really said that at the time.  As I

recall, the decision for me to take Prealgebra a third time was made during a

30 second meeting with a counselor who was wearing bright magenta

polyester pants.  (He wore them almost every day.)  Yes, I put my future in the

hands of a man who needed a fashion arrest.

          This year went pretty well.  The teacher was much better and I remember

getting some good grades.  I really don’t remember any of the math I learned

that year…   But I do remember feeling pretty good about being in the class, so

I must have been doing alright.  Things were looking up for me –

mathematically speaking.

          Then came tenth grade – Algebra 1.  The teacher was a funny little man –

the kind whose first and last names rhymed and should have been the name

of a fancy Italian coffee.  The main problem was that, whenever we asked him

a math question, he’d tell us a World War II submarine story.  But, the real

entertainment was waiting for him to either trip on his podium or spill his

coffee.  Sometimes, we’d get lucky and he’d do both simultaneously.

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