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An open letter to my Algebra teacher, Mr. Erz.Dear Mr. Erz,
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I wanted you to know some things.
I failed your algebra class in 9th grade, pretty much on purpose. I know. That's a fairly common story, and not that surprising. We clashed a little. I remember asking the typical questions, like "What will I ever use this for? I'm gonna be an artist!"
Here's the first irony of the story. I've never used algebra in my life except for fun. I got into war-gaming and had to figure out stuff like collision equations. It's the Algebra Teacher's Revenge.
But the real story here is what you didn't do. You didn't reject me, or look down on me, or nag me or drag me down. You just accepted my decision to be stupid and let it slide. This made for some of my fondest memories of school. Discussions about how the world works, playing chess with other students and trying to figure out your hanoi tower puzzle, all in an atmosphere of acceptance.
What this produced was that when the true irony of my life materialized, my profession as a teacher, it