Developmental Mathematics

I teach developmental mathematics.

In the 1990s we would have called it

remedial. In the 1790s we would

have called it cutting edge.

My students are the leftover students.

I teach the prom queens who no longer

have a kingdom.  I teach the tattooed

and the pierced.  I teach the veterans

who hold their pencils like detonators.

My students are non-traditional students,

students who have nine to fives,

students who leave my evening class

and stock the local Wal-Mart until

the sun rises.

In my class we factor, distribute, solve,

and simplify. We do math that, for many,

was done alongside puberty.

My students did not get it, or, more often,

they were not given it. And so I hold

them by their mathematical hands,

and we walk into the world.

My students think they are stupid.

They have been told as much by faculty,

friends, family, and every news report that

compares America to China.

My students think that I am smart

because I can divide, multiply, add,

and subtract fractions without so much as

moving a pencil.

Other people like that I teach developmental

mathematics.  They say that I am a good soul.

They say that I should be lauded for my effort.

I think other people like the fact that I teach

developmental mathematics, because

they like the fact that they aren’t enrolled.

They like that there will always be cashiers

at Taco Bell and people to change their oil.

What they don’t know is that one

by one I am building a small army.

What they don’t know is that the

prom queen is about to find her crown.

What they don’t know is that the

Wal-Mart stocker just factored a trinomial

without so much as moving a pencil.

We’re all climbing ladders here.

My money is on the ones who were never told to stop.