I've just returned from my summer Hudsonville visit, during which I had the opportunity to sift through some writings from my middle school years. This poem had me crying with laughter, and recalled to me vividly the utter (if melodramatic) despair that mathematics invariably elicited from my poor unscientific soul. I remember composing it during Algebra I class with Mr. TenElshof, in Room 111 at Plymouth School.
The moment I walk
into Room 111,
the teacher's brisk talk
submerges my brain
in fetid, black water
that's numeral ridden
where every plain concept
seems murky and hidden.
I struggle to rise,
to breathe and break surface,
to open my eyes--
to understand Math.
But all is illusion,
vague, muddied confusion...
The water drifts endless
in directionless path.
-Abby Pettit, seventh grade, age 13
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