【Dyscalculia】

Day 3
29/5/2017

     I watched him struggle, trying to fit the coloured pieces together on the square grid I had laid out for him a few hours prior to this moment. He struggled—the sweet kid, always has when it comes to patterns, puzzles, numbers. Understanding the concept in theory and struggling in application—the issues with mathematics that came, I’d say they stunted critical thinking skills to some small degree. That’s the very reason I’m here to begin with nonetheless, a favour for a friend, helping the child complete the most mentally tasking of challenges and puzzles one shape and value at a time.

    “You’ve gotten a bit faster, kid.” I commented, watching the older teen with care, pushing the hourglass behind a book of mine, reducing the stress of having to watch time drain with each mistake or failed attempt. I judge the success of his attempts off how much his thoughts correspond to actions; how close he gets to finishing the project in an hour.

     Eventually, he’ll recognise the pattern—remember where he failed, understand the processes went through previously. Visualize the components of this geometric field and keep them all conscious in his head, creating equality on both halves in value and placement—applying it, that’s all he needs to do, reminding himself repeatedly that the task at hand is only a matter of doing the work step by step, and requesting help if necessary—something he does less and less now, compared to a few years ago. I wonder if it’s he or I, whom gets more concerned about the success and the timing—I watch far more intensely as the sand runs thin, resisting the temptation to bark words of assistance or warn of the failing times.

     “Time’s up, blondie...let’s clear the grid and get the chalk—we’ll do the same, though with values and variables. As long as you do the same to both sides of the grid, they’ll be the same. Try to find the variable.” I repeat my script for the millionth time, passing over the coloured chalk box and the maths expression to serve as an example. We’ve made so much progress, focus improvement, the application of known rules, recognizing when to use them—it’s all in patience and repetition, the former being something I hold endless barrels of, the latter something he struggles to retain concentration on, losing interest, “Take your time, you have an hour to complete as much as you can, I’m right here if you need redirection.”

     I’d turn the timer in its harness once again, attentive to the subtle sound it makes when tipping, the grains scraping the glass for a moment before deafening themselves. I yearn for the day I might retire it—not because I’ve grown tired of tutoring this child, but because it will signal he has grown enough to need it no more.