I started this journey in 2006. One course at a time, I've dipped my inquiring mind into a long list of interesting subjects, even ones that weren't in the business department, such as The Art and Science of Adult Education and Foundations of E-Learning. I was lucky to have many choices for electives. When I started "attending" this online university, learners could choose from a veritable smorgasbord of subjects.
A few years ago, the school sold out to an investment company, and the hatches were battened down. Learners were given a pre-designed program. The curriculum was set. No more choices. I was lucky. And here I am, six years later, much older, wearier, and arguably no wiser than when I started.
I've changed some since 2006, but my same old fears are still with me. Am I smart enough to do this? Will my bank account hold out? How can I fool everyone that I am statistically competent? Will there be a job for me, at the advanced age of 55, when I finally complete this degree? What kind of job can I expect? Who will hire a fading, chronically malcontented Ph.D.?
My friend accuses me of straying into the "wreckage of the future" whenever I dwell on the myriad possibilities for failure. She's right, but I can't seem to help myself. It's where I feel the most at home.
I teach an occupational course in which students use 10-key calculators to perform various business math computations. They learn to use the memory feature to multiply and divide multiple numbers. I have an older student who clearly exhibits signs of living in the wreckage of the future. She broke down weeping during a one-page test of basic arithmetic. I'm sure the same thoughts run through her mind as run through mine: Am I smart enough to compete with these young twenty-somethings? Who will hire me if I can't do basic math?
What she said to me was, "It's not that hard!" as tears streamed down her face. She means, it's hard, and it shouldn't be. She thinks there is something wrong with her. I tried to reassure her, without outing myself as a complete math incompetent. (After all, I am ostensibly teaching the class.) What can I say to soothe her ragged self-esteem? She believes it's important to know how to do math, probably because that is what people have told us from the moment we learned to count. Welcome to educator hell.
I've had a wary relationship with numbers ever since I can remember. In second grade I cheated all the time in arithmetic (sorry Mrs. Corbin, although I'm sure you knew). In third grade Miss Hubbert told me to stand in the hall until I could learn how to tell time on the clock. (Back then time was a mysterious analog thing, not digital like it is now.) I got some passerby to tell me the time so I could go back into the classroom, but it took me years to understand the relationship between the big hand and the little hand.
Some brains are better with words, some are better with numbers. The only thing I can do with numbers is line them up and make them look good. I can format the hell out a column of numbers. But anything beyond calculating the mean gives me cold sweats. That is why my dissertation will most likely end up to be qualitative rather than quantitative.
