Some days I wish I could go back in time to my second grade classroom. I would find my second grade self, with pigtail braids and gapped front teeth, and I would tap her on the shoulder. She would look up at me from a thirty-problem multiplication worksheet, frustrated. Wordlessly I'd take her pencil, smile reassuringly, and I would write:
Dear Mrs. Sharp, principal, and board;
I will tolerate this no longer. Not only am I failing to learn anything as you force me to complete this ridiculous sheet of problems, but you are giving me a math anxiety from which I am likely to suffer the duration of my years as a student, and quite possibly the rest of my life. As the rest of my classmates succumb to this torture, I will sit here in quiet defiance, and refuse to participate.
I dare you to stop me.
Your diligent future English major,
Ashley
My shy, second grade self would stare wide eyed in fear. But maybe I would have the ability to sit here tonight and confidently say, I did well in math. Maybe I would have learned how to multiply square roots, or gotten higher than a 140 on my GRE Analytics test (the scale is from 130-170). Or maybe when my boss asks me to use an algebra formula to place a new pastry order, my stomach wouldn't knot up.
Eh, I rather edit books anyway.