High-level math became a chore, another thing to do, something that I regarded with the same joy one might feel as they empty a dishwasher. Taking notes in class was the orderly arrangement of cups, and homework was sorting through forks and knives. Taking the test was completing the task and closing the door on what I learned–I might use it later, but probably not. 

With this mindset, I started first-period Calculus and Applications in my junior year at Arrowhead High School. I expected a fast pace, harder content, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. The teacher of the class, Mr. Schmid, approached math differently from almost all of the teachers that I had in the past. On the first day of class I remember he said, “I want you to focus on learning, not on your grades.” I was skeptical because as long as my grade in a class was above 90%, I thought my work was done–even if I hadn’t learned something permanently.

Mr. Schmid may have not realized it, but he changed my jaded view on math. He slowed things down in class, going through examples when he was met with silence and blank stares. Instead of a theorem copied from a slide, I got drawings, graphs, and example problems that united to form a puzzle of deeper understanding. 

Furthermore, Mr. Schmid changed the way I looked at getting extra help. In the past, I would spend hours on problems I could barely do because getting help felt like a weakness. I would only swallow my pride to email a teacher for help when I was too frustrated to go on. When I got help, I would burn with shame as I failed to comprehend even the most basic steps. 

Mr. Schmid stated that it was normal and expected to ask for help. Before some of the first homework assignments, he announced to the whole class, “I don’t want you guys to spend more than 10 minutes on a homework problem. If you are struggling, ask me the next day to go over it.”

When I encountered a homework problem that had already spent 10 minutes on to no avail, I did something I had never done before. I put down my pencil and decided to ask for help the next day. 

The next day, I strolled into the room before class and asked, “Could you explain a problem from the homework, Mr. Schmid?” 

“Of course,” he said, copying the equation from the textbook onto the whiteboard. “What have you done so far?”

“Nothing. I spent 10 minutes on it and decided to move on.” 

Mr. Schmid nodded and drew a diagram, marking each variable on the drawing. 

“Now that we have a drawing, you can see that the problem is asking for you to find the volume of this–” he pointed to the diagram. I suddenly understood what was going on, and solved the rest in my notebook. 

In my senior year, I had a 20-minute study hall where Mr. Schmid let me stay in his classroom. Some days, I would ask for help, but I mostly ended up talking to my teacher. I learned from one such conversation that Mr. Schmid was once an avid biker, and that if I wanted good mountain bike trails, I should go down to Southern Wisconsin. Other days, I talked about my interest in going to UW-Madison and Mr. Schmid gave me advice based on his experience there. On top of being the best math teacher I have ever had, Mr. Schmid is a super likable person. 

As I go to college to study engineering, I will forever remember the positive impact that Mr. Schmid had on my learning.