After a stellar freshman year in Algebra One, I was a certain hit in Algebra Two. However, someone forgot to tell Mrs. Perez and the nightmare began. For some reason, I was the only one in the class that couldn’t figure out what this woman wanted me to learn, while people like Rudy Somebody answered all the class questions with answers I needed translating for.
And Mrs. Perez seemed to take it personally that I didn’t know what she was talking about 89.7% of the time. Apparently, the people who taught me the year before were incompetent or they just wanted to help me with my self-esteem and not my math skills.
Well, there was one more overmatched (seemingly...we at least shared the same level of comtempt as delivered by Mrs. Perez) student, a guy named Jeff Koke…it didn’t help we sat next to one another and did things like make up alternative lyrics to “Hey Jude”…something about making some “batter”…I’m sure he’s done better work since then too.
The following year, with Algebra Two behind us, Jeff asked me if I wanted to play soccer for a club team his dad was in charge of…it seemed safe until we went to play at a boys prison (sort of) for angry young men and they rioted during the game, throwing rocks at us and our bus as we peeled out of the parking lot before halftime even arrived. Then the basketball coach told me that I couldn’t play an outside sport (involving random violence from spectators), so I quit.
I respected his authority and did what he wanted me to do, even though I didn’t want to. Besides, I was afraid he’d call Mrs. Perez.
