The Effects of Math on My Life

I started to dislike math when I was in the third grade. I did not want to memorize the multiplication tables, just thinking about them now make me cringe. Unlike learning how to read, studying math seemed to have no purpose other than to give me massive feelings of frustration and shattered nerves. The alphabet was a wonderful code that, when deciphered, entertained me with stories and revealed all kinds of secrets about the world.(thesis) Multiplication tables, on the other hand, just told me how much six times nine was. There was no joy in knowing that. Although even in third grade I understood that I shared with many other students a terrible fear and hatred of mathematics. I drew little comfort from that fact. Since then, I have struggled with math for a number of reasons.(transitional sentence)

My hate for math became worse when Mr. McCully forced us to participate in his sadistic math wars. Having ordered us to stand in rows, side by side, this enthusiastic man would shout problems at us: "Forty-eight divided by three? . . . Nine times twelve? . . . Three times eight divided by two?" The students who called out the correct answers fastest would win; those of us who answered wrong or not at all would have to sit down. I dreaded losing, that fact that I couldn’t wrench out answers fast enough made me feel like a slow retard. Not only did mathematics seem unimportant and dull, it also became associated in my mind with competition. During the counting contests, I would deliberately give an incorrect answer early on so that I could escape the game quickly.

As I grew older, math became worse, like a persistent little brother who insists on being your shadow all the time.(transitional) Negative numbers, I thought, were simply insane. You either have some or none; if you’re negative then there is nothing. Patiently, my older brother would try talking me through the steps when helping me with my homework. Oh, eventually I would...

I started to dislike math when I was in the third grade. I did not want to memorize the multiplication tables, just thinking about them now make me cringe. Unlike learning how to read, studying math seemed to have no purpose other than to give me massive feelings of frustration and shattered nerves. The alphabet was a wonderful code that, when deciphered, entertained me with stories and revealed all kinds of secrets about the world.(thesis) Multiplication tables, on the other hand, just told me how much six times nine was. There was no joy in knowing that. Although even in third grade I understood that I shared with many other students a terrible fear and hatred of mathematics. I drew little comfort from that fact. Since then, I have struggled with math for a number of reasons.(transitional sentence)

My hate for math became worse when Mr. McCully forced us to participate in his sadistic math wars. Having ordered us to stand in rows, side by side, this enthusiastic man would shout problems at us: "Forty-eight divided by three? . . . Nine times twelve? . . . Three times eight divided by two?" The students who called out the correct answers fastest would win; those of us who answered wrong or not at all would have to sit down. I dreaded losing, that fact that I couldn’t wrench out answers fast enough made me feel like a slow retard. Not only did mathematics seem unimportant and dull, it also became associated in my mind with competition. During the counting contests, I would deliberately give an incorrect answer early on so that I could escape the game quickly.

As I grew older, math became worse, like a persistent little brother who insists on being your shadow all the time.(transitional) Negative numbers, I thought, were simply insane. You either have some or none; if you’re negative then there is nothing. Patiently, my older brother would try talking me through the steps when helping me with my homework. Oh, eventually I would...