QUANTITATIVE REASONING: PRISON EDITION

When the start of the summer semester of college began in Nottoway Correction Center, my world changed. I initially signed up for four classes: History, Computer Literacy, Religion and Quantitative Reasoning. The workload would be a heavy one, but Religion was dropped due to something outside of my control. Even so, three classes in prison was hectic already, but when I sat down and learned about Quantitative Reasoning, hectic was an understatement.

Every student that I spoke with disclosed they were glad they completed Quantitative Reasoning. They said it was hard, a headache to learn, and it took all they had to pass the class. They endured our usual fifteen-week semester but in the summertime, we only had ten weeks.

The fear, yes, fear had me running around the prison searching for one of the Quantitative Reasoning math books. The majority of the students revealed they discarded all their material in the trash when they finished their semester. So, I was screwed on getting a leg up on my studies...well, one day, a former coworker from my in-grounds job moved into my unit in Upper O, East Side, and we caught up--and what I shared was how I was freaking out about Quantitative Reasoning. He chuckled and told me that he had a math book from his studies, and that I could borrow it.

The day I opened up the Quantitative Reasoning math book, I felt I was on the Enterprise (Star Trek), working alongside Spock, trying to fix the flux capacitors to get us back into warp drive. Seriously, this was a new language. So I, along with RaMutu--a fellow classmate--started deciphering the equations that we found confusing.

To give you some back story, I hadn't seen the inside of a math classroom in 30 years. Nor had RaMutu, who hadn't attended a math class since 1988. Now you could grasp why we're looking at these equations like they were in Chinese. The frustration was apparent, and we just did what we could do...until the first day of class started.

It was a sunny afternoon when 13 students, myself included, entered the classroom. Our professor for Quantitative Reasoning was Ms. Coleman. She introduced herself by sharing the numerous degrees she attained in college, and that her love of math would be why this semester would be fun. I didn't smile as she introduced us to the Venn Diagram.

I'm a fifty-year-old man with limited knowledge of algebra, so when the Venn Diagram popped up on the Smart Board, I was doing a head scratch as she explained how to solve it. I departed from the classroom, shaking my head--and RaMutu looking like he held his breath from the bottom of the ocean floor, finally taking in oxygen. We discussed what we were to learn, while nervously looking at the week's assignment.

Confused. That's what we were as the following day fell upon us. We wanted a day to digest what we learned, then began the arduous task of answering the Venn Diagram. We enlisted Buck, another student who was trying to figure it out too. Three men at a stainless table, math pages scattered about, studying the equations. It took over an hour, but we were starting to grasp the Venn Diagram. A smile, no, only when we heard back from Ms. Coleman if we truly figured out the equations.

The grades came and they were all passing; then we had to learn Truth Tables, negations, biconditionals, and so on. Again, where was Spock, because my brain was scrambled. This was something I struggled with, but I desired to pass. So, the students and I ventured into Study Hall.

A group of men from all walks of life. Blacks, Whites, gang members, former drug addicts--and all wanted to learn. We came together and decided to call on Mack, the GED tutor, a few doors down the hallway. He took Quantitative Reasoning a few semesters ago. We watched him decipher the problem and explained how to solve it, while utilizing a smart board; we saved those equations, then took to the assignments we had to complete.

The days were all about Quantitative Reasoning. We didn't work out, nor ventured outside for recreation. We didn't even waste time watching TV. All we did was study. This showed how serious we were about our education, in an environment where the theme of the day was drug abuse and violence...but that narrative shifted when you had multiple men roaming the facility asking about questions about the assignments. That was our talks and it was refreshing, because we proved to ourselves and others that college mattered.

The morning of our big test, which counted towards 30% of our grade, we had a packed house in Study Hall. I spoke with Buck, who truly grasped the Venn Diagram and Truth Tables, that we should go over our assignment, one question at a time. He agreed and we took turns trying to trick one another in finding the answer to a given problem. Those who really struggled, we brought them to the board and took them through the equation, step by step. Once we were assured we all had it, we left the Study Hall. In a few hours we would be back in the classroom, ready to pass our test.

I had a pocket full of candy, and a nervous tick as my leg bounced up and down in my state boot. Ms. Coleman took us through all we needed to know, then the test came. I had to answer subsets of 128, round numbers to the nearest 10, and I had to show my work. I popped one butterscotch candy into my mouth, one after another, crunching them to nothing as I chewed my brain on getting 20 questions answered. Buck, he completed the test first--in 20 minutes- then I followed next. Quick, but I trained my brain to understand everything I had to answer.

Studying. What you put in was what you'd get out. Even in prison, we could develop into something more--and that's college-educated men. As for the test, I passed, RaMutu passed and so did the majority of the class. We had a great professor, and we also helped one another reach our goal of understanding Quantitative Reasoning. Even so, we had six more weeks. Damn.