His Math Skills Never Added Up

I never told my parents the story I’m about to tell you.

Consider it a cautionary tale for wannabe college students who like to learn the hard way.

Before enrolling in college, just like now, students took a math placement test. I didn’t pay it much mind because I was confident in my skills. A practice test assured me that I’d excel. Taking it was simply a technicality in my mind.

Then life happened.

The test was at 8 a.m. on a Saturday in Pullman, a 30-minute drive from my home in Clarkston, Wash., I was going with a friend named Rantz. To be there on time, we wanted to be on the road by 7 a.m.

That Friday night before the test turned out to be a late one. The night began with calls to a few friends and plans to meet somewhere. While we were out, we met a couple of girls from Lewiston. Somebody was attracted to somebody and before I knew it, the guy who gave me a ride that night left me stranded with one of the girls.

It was past midnight. I asked her to take me home. It was a warm June, and she wanted to go swimming in the river. I think I sat pouting on the sandy shore while she actually jumped in the Snake River.

I got home at 2:30 a.m. I picked up Rantz at 7 a.m. He was prepared.

He handed me cups of strong coffee while I drove. He played punk rock music to wake me up. The Violent Femmes and Suicidal Tendencies jangled my nerves.

“INSTITUTIONALIZED!” I’m not crazy!” the song screamed. “You’re the one’s that’s crazy! INSTITUTIONALIZED!”

When I finally reached my desk at the test site and popped open the packet, I expected to draw from my skills. It was like everything I knew had evaporated.

“Please, put your pencils down and listen while I read the instructions for part two,” said the instructor.

I hoped to rebound, but it only got worse. I panicked. And when the test scores came back weeks later, I scored so low I had to begin my college career by taking college algebra in the fall, material I’d covered in the seventh and ninth grades.

Like most cocky 18-year-olds, I thought it’d still work out somehow.

I registered for Math 102. I thought I’d cruise through an easy class, score an A and move on.

Then life happened again.

Math 102 was at 9 a.m., five days a week. Grades were determined on our best three scores on four tests.

But I started skipping classes and didn’t hear the professor change the date on the first test.

I missed Test 1 in Math 102 and scored a big zero.

On the day of Test 2 three weeks later, my alarm clock died. I slept in my bed as the test began at 9 a.m.

My roommate kicked in my door at 9:20 a.m.

“Dude, don’t you have a test today?” he said.

I made it there by 9:40 a.m and had 15 minutes. I scored an 81 percent, but it was downhill from there when the course entered new areas. I never studied.

Weeks later, the report card came. I needed a B minus to continue to the next class. I scored a C plus.

I had not cleared the math hurdle.

In the next few years at Western Washington University, I simply ignored math requirements. Six months from getting a diploma, a graduation counselor told me I had to complete Math 102, 103, 104 and 105 to graduate. And they had to be taken one at a time.

There was no way to do that in six months. I went to the testing center to ask if I could challenge the courses, which meant proving I already had the knowledge.

If I recall correctly, it required a three-hour test per course to show I had a thorough understanding of the material.

I slumped on the counter and moaned about blowing my math placement test almost five years earlier.

Matter of factly, the woman behind the counter said, “You can take the placement test again.”

“How?”

“You pay me five dollars and take it now.”

I couldn’t believe it. It was like heaven opened and a gold get-out-of-jail card fell from above.

The test took 15 minutes. I scored high enough to skip to Math 105. In short, I graduated on schedule.

When my parents would call to check on me, I’d say something like, “Would you stop worrying. Everything’s going fine.”