On August 10th, 2022, the first day of my sophomore year of high school, the first class I walked into was Advanced Algebra II with Mr. K (For privacy’s sake, I have avoided using my algebra teacher’s full name). To my surprise, Mr. K did not begin that class with a discussion of the syllabus, or with a review of class expectations, or even with a math-related lecture. He began our day by organizing us into table groups, and then instructing us to create a special handshake with our table-mates that we would later share with the rest of the class. My classmates and I were a funny combination of entertained, embarrassed, and pleasantly confused. Before school that morning I was really nervous about starting a new school year, particularly in regards to how I would fit in with a whole new crowd of people. But in less than five minutes into my school day I was effortlessly introduced to everyone at my table, and as we rigorously debated whether to include jazz hands in our handshake, I felt completely unafraid to build connections with those around me. Shortly after the handshake presentations, Mr. K began to discuss the details of the course and the structure of his classroom—but only after he had made sure we started off our school year in a fun and memorable fashion. That class marks the beginnings of one of the best math classes I have ever taken.

I am not someone who hates math; in fact, mathematics has often been one of my favorite subjects. However, I am the first to acknowledge that, when poorly understood, math can be absolutely brutal. Few things strike more fear into my heart than the idea of opening a math exam to see rows of unfamiliar equations staring back at me. What made Mr. K such an excellent teacher in my eyes was his ability to make math familiar. His class was casual and unstructured in a way that gave quite a lot of freedom to us, his students. I would walk into class, pull out my Chromebook, and open up the day’s video lesson—for example, “Applications of Exponential Equations.” These online lessons were screen recordings of Google Slide presentations with additional teacher commentary. The very longest videos were an hour, but he gave us the freedom to watch the videos at 2× speed, to skip through sections of the video, or to even skip the entire video altogether and simply read the presentation if we already felt confident in the material. Then there would be a worksheet assignment online that we could work on in class or at home, and the key was always available to check our answers with. The worksheets were ungraded; their only purpose was to provide us an opportunity to practice our newly-gained knowledge. If anyone had a question, Mr. K was always available to explain the material in a different way or to go over practice problems. The day after the lesson, Mr. K would give a short recap of the material, going over some of the key points and asking if anyone had any questions. Then we would take a DFA—a micro-quiz of only four open-response questions—which was graded. However, if anyone wasn’t satisfied with the grade they made, Mr. K gave us all opportunities to redo any DFA for up to an 100. Every once and a while we would take SAs (Summative Assessments), much longer and more comprehensive tests that made up 90% of our grade. Yet I never felt overly stressed for any of the SAs, because I always felt as if I had been given the resources to properly prepare myself.

This teaching style, I believe, is what made Mr. K such an impactful teacher. I have had teachers who saw rigid structure as the only path to success—to them, everyone had to be completing the same exact tasks in the exact same way. Yet Mr. K was different; Mr. K never forced any material down our throats. I always got the sense that, in a very fundamental way, he trusted us as human beings, and he had enough faith in us to allow us to make some simple decisions about our own learning. If a student realized that she didn’t need to spend hours watching videos and completing dozens of practice problems over material she already understood, Mr. K gave her the freedom to take control of her own learning. If a student was having trouble with a topic and needed extra time to work on it, she could take the worksheet home; because the worksheets were ungraded, she could focus on understanding the material rather than worrying about a grade. If a student was struggling through a hard day and simply could not focus on math during class, she could complete the video lesson and the worksheet later at home.

I would like to note here that I am not an expert in the educational field, and I have no idea if providing such autonomy would work for younger students or for students who struggle more with time management—since I was enrolled in a class for advanced high school students, many of the students had already shown commitment and responsibility by choosing a more rigorous course. What I do know is that Mr. K granted us, his students, more agency than almost any other teacher I have ever had, and I excelled in his class academically and mentally. He didn’t treat us like robots he needed to program; he treated us like humans he wanted to see grow and improve. He was funny, too—sometimes he would delay a lesson a little bit just so he could share a great story with us, or so we could share a great story with him.

He was also honest, particularly about the challenges he and other teachers face in the United States. The insane amount of grading, course planning, class preparation, and other tasks would eat up hours of his day—one time, I remember him telling us that he didn’t get home until 9:00 PM one evening because he had been too busy grading all of our SAs by hand.

Simply put, I’ll always think of him as a first-rate teacher, and as a first-rate person. The skills I learned and developed in his class made me feel more confident as a student mathematician and as my own individual. Because of the impact he had on my life, I wish I could stop by his classroom this upcoming fall to say hello and express my gratitude—but on the last day of my sophomore year, Mr. K announced to the class that he would not be returning to teach. I guess that the long hours, heavy workload, insufficient financial compensation, and high-stress environment made him decide to leave the profession. I’ll never forget the lessons he taught—about the value of interpreting mathematical patterns, the significance of identifying predictable trends around us, and the importance of critical, logical thinking in a world determined to keep us simple. I just wish other students could receive those same lessons.