Lessons in Learning, Lessons in Earning

  "A Math Memoir- Series" 

When I started middle school, there was no subject I hated more than math.

In primary school, math had been mostly simple: addition, subtraction, multiplication, long division, drawing graphs, and calculating the areas of basic shapes, especially circles. None of it was impossible for me. I just hated it.

Numbers and Dread

Then middle school began, and math suddenly became something else. We were introduced to sets and number theory, and to me they felt like a foreign language. Math class turned into a quiet hour of daydreaming and gloom.

Our math teacher was a quiet man in his thirties. He always tried to add a little humor to the lesson, and he explained everything with real effort. He would fill the blackboard with examples and keep solving problems until the bell rang.

But did I listen?

Not once.

One day, he pulled me out of my daydream by asking me a question directly.

I froze.

He stood there waiting for an answer, while my face gave him the clearest possible definition of not having a clue. Kindly, he repeated the explanation and asked the question again. Still, nothing came out of me.

After class, in front of everyone, he said that anyone who needed extra help could join his private tutoring lessons.

When I got home, I told my father what had happened. He already knew about my long and painful history with math, so he agreed at once. His only instruction was simple: find out where the lessons were, when they started, and how much they cost.

A Small Return to Math

Mr. Muneer was in his thirties, polite, and somehow charming. In his private lessons, he taught the same things we studied at school, but everything felt different there. He gave each student more attention. He solved more problems. He handed out his own booklets. He checked our homework and made sure we actually understood what we were doing.

And through him, I discovered something I never expected.

I began to like set theory.

It felt less like math and more like a game. I liked watching numbers come together, split apart, overlap, and belong to different groups. The symbol for “and” no longer felt like some trick my primary school teacher had invented. It meant intersection. And “or” meant union. These were simple ideas, but to me they felt strangely beautiful.

By the end of my first year in middle school, I had done very well in math.

From that point on, and even later at university, math became one of my strongest subjects. Geography, on the other hand, remained my great weakness. Maybe that had less to do with geography itself and more to do with its teacher, who reminded me too much of Mr. Ibrahim Amer.

The Ledger

Mr. Muneer was not an angel. But compared to the trickster from primary school, he was a much better man. More importantly, he made me respect math.

Still, he had one habit that never changed.

He was very serious about money.

He kept a special attendance register and marked every absence and every lesson with great care. Each month had four sessions, and he counted them like a banker counting coins. If you had not paid for the month, there would be no new lesson for you. If you missed a class, that was your problem, not his. He had his own responsibilities, after all.

Coins and Commitments

By the end of my second year, Mr. Muneer had gotten married and moved into a new apartment he had bought. People said it was so large you could ride a horse through it.

Our lessons moved there too.

It was a fancy apartment in a better neighborhood, very different from the old place we had known. But before we could begin any actual math, Mr. Muneer would bring out his ledger.

First things first.

Had we paid for the month?
Did we still have one lesson left?
Or was it time to settle the account again?

Only after the numbers of life were arranged could we return to the numbers on the page.