Algebra Homework with a Fourth Grader

“Mom, can you help me with homework after dinner?” Jamie asked. “I don’t get the math part exactly.”

Math, a four-letter word in my world. I did well in math through sixth grade, mastering the basics with ease. Then I hit seventh grade and was introduced to algebra. Suddenly, numbers were mixing with letters and I was trying unsuccessfully to solve problems to determine the unknown.

I was immediately lost. Math was my last class of the day, when my brain was already tired. My fellow students dutifully copied the equations from the blackboard, followed along with the lesson and seemed to arrive at the right answer.

My hand constantly shot up in the air. “Why do we just add what we want on one side and the other?” “What if I pick the wrong number?” “Why can we rearrange that equation but we couldn’t do it to the other one?” All my questions were answered with the same response: “Just do what we’re doing and it will make sense to you later.”

Nope, wrong answer. I needed to understand WHY we were doing the various steps in a specific order; I needed to understand the logic. Most homework was completed in class, so when I received it back with every answer wrong, I was allowed to correct my answers with the teacher’s help (“Just do it this way, Laura”), so my homework arrived at home with zero mistakes for my parents to see.

I managed to fake my way through junior high and high school algebra (we won’t discuss geometry), somehow scraping out Bs and Cs but never grasping the basic concepts and struggling with every equation.

I arrived at NIU and prepared to fail my first course, Algebra 101, which I successfully did three times in a row, with the help of a tutor! Homework consumed hours of my time, and I had myself convinced I could not learn algebra, and I had the failing grades to prove it.

As I needed to pass this algebra course to graduate, I decided to take it as a summer school class at a community college, and focus all my time and attention on barely passing with a high C, the equivalent of an A for me, or so I thought. I braced myself for eight weeks of misery.

What I wasn’t prepared for was an instructor who knew how to teach algebra, not just repeat lesson plans that did not include questions from students. I wasn’t prepared to be in a class of fifteen, where the instructor knew my name and was personally invested in my success. Quite a stretch from the 250-seat lecture hall at NIU, where equations were scrawled on an overhead projector by a graduate assistant I couldn’t identify in a lineup if my life depended on it.

When I asked questions, I received real answers. Equations were explained to me, step by step, and within the first two weeks I was shocked to discover I truly understood algebra. I cried like a baby when I received my first pop quiz back in week three of class and a big fat “A” was scrawled across the top of the paper. Thanks to Mr. Kruzinski and his infinite patience, I passed my Algebra 101 class with an A-.

Jamie’s confusion was shockingly genetic in nature – he didn’t understand why balancing the equation was important and why it worked. These basic concepts are the building blocks of algebra that were never explained to me, and I knew his frustration would set in immediately if he didn’t grasp the concept quickly.

One hour and ten math problems later, Jamie proudly packed his textbook and homework in his backpack and gave me a huge hug. “Thanks, mom. That was easy. You’re really good at this.”

I take back everything I said about never needing to know how to do algebra in my every day life.