Until that famous summer when banks collapsed by their own doing, pretending they needed to be rescued, Antonio Carrinian had an easy life. He actually had two lives he never mixed: one as a teacher, and one as an epicurean lover. He taught mathematics, and tutored those who needed extra help making himself available until about eight o’clock in the evening. Then, he went out for dinner and charmed his way to a date or went dancing which often ended with the same result. I am Serena Maltez, a colleague.
Antonio failed mercilessly any student who attempted to pass exams using memorization only. He warned them. He told them he did not believe people could not do math; he believed there were those who were scared of math and those who were not. He told them that if they thought they could not do math, they needed to ask for his help. He always made time for his students. Until eight o’clock that is. They would meet in his office or at a café. He never let anyone down. Those who took his challenge passed. No exceptions. And not because he was easier on them: they actually learned the material, to their own surprise.
At night, after his last student left, he went to a bistro. He was an affable and handsome man and shared his table freely with people. That is also how he met women. They noticed right away he did not wear a wedding ring. Inevitably they asked if he had ever been married. He cleared any doubts by letting them know he had no interest in a relationship. His love was for mathematics and for teaching it. Some women excused themselves then, if they were looking for a long term relationship, but first waited for a response, hoping he would change his mind. He never strayed from his principles. He never fell under the spell of seduction, which turned him off. If women were intrigued and did not ask for a long term relationship, he was more then happy to prolong the night. He did not get attached and, yet, never left a woman without a gallant goodbye kiss. If a woman asked if they could meet again, he always said: “God willing!” He smiled, and walked away without leaving his phone number or his address, and without asking for hers.
That summer, when banks collapsed, everything changed. His students were agitated and withdrawn; he could not hold their interest. It affected him. He skipped meals. He stopped listening to music. He did not seek dates. He became a recluse. He spent all his time with his students or thinking about how to get their attention so he could teach them. He had always been able to help those who wanted it. But no longer. That summer the proportion of students seeking his help was higher than normal but few showed any progress. After 20 years of successfully teaching students other math teachers had given up on, Antonio was facing failure for the first time.
He was walking aimlessly, distracted, after school one night, when he heard a familiar voice that drew him back to the outside world. It was Jenna, one of his current students.
“Mr. Carrinian?” she said.
“Yes,” Antonio answered. He stopped to look at her. She was dressed in blue jeans that were falling apart, showing holes and threads. She had a light blouse on, not ironed. She was one of the students he’d been unable to help so far. He was embarrassed. He feared he’d lost his magic. He had little confidence left. It felt like death.
“Hi!” she said, shyly.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Nowhere,” she said. “There’s nowhere to go.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you know?”
“No, I’m sorry ...”
“It’s just that thing that’s on everybody’s mind, sir.”
“What thing?”
“There’s no money, no food to eat, my parents are either angry or depressed. We’re going to lose our house to foreclosure. We have nowhere to go. I don’t know if you know what students are saying about you?”
“Please, Jenna, tell me …”
“You’ve been the best teacher anyone has ever had. But now they say you only care about math, it never was us you cared about.”
“Oh!” Antonio said. “May I invite you to dinner?”
“It’s not just me, sir. It’s about half the students in our class.”
“Yes, you’re right, I could not feed everybody. But, can I offer you dinner this time so you can help me see how things really are for you?”
Jenna accepted her teacher’s invitation. After dinner, he invited her to the local store to buy some food for her family.
Antonio could not sleep that night. Every time he fell asleep for a few seconds he had nightmarish visions of being the worst teacher ever, of being uncaring. The devil was laughing and angels were pulling away. How did he get there? He’d been so proud of his accomplishments. He’d been rewarded with the College Teacher of the Year Award for the last five years and he had just received the State Teacher of the Year Award for the second year in a row. Now, he was sure and he had fooled everyone for 20 years; he was a charlatan. How could he redeem himself? All he knew was mathematics and his students needed something else, something more basic: food, a roof over their heads, and love in their families.
The next day, Antonio asked me how I was doing with my students. He was always asking me that, but his tone was different this time. There was urgency in his voice. And something like a deep concern. He told me about his encounter with Jenna and he wondered what to do. I was facing a similar problem. We pulled our classes together and did not teach math. Only two thirds of our students showed up, if that. Antonio asked them to talk about what was bothering them. They were scared that nothing would change; they feared that summer would never end. At the end of class, he told them they would meet again all together. He wanted to hear everything and everyone. After that class Antonio asked me what I thought.
We did not have any solutions for them, but we could easily engage them in a conversation with each other, let the frustrations come out in the open. The word had gotten out and all the students showed up for our next joint class. Antonio asked them what they would do if they had the power. They surprised us. They said people needed to come together as a community, get to know each other, support each other, and barter. As a result of their discussion, they organized an online site for the community to share needs with each other and for people to sign up to help when they were free. They also organized community dinners. All this was set up within a week of our first non-math class.
At the end of that week, even though each family still had the same lack of money, there was more joy in the air as people started to feel hope and support, and as we became a community.
Our students asked us to teach math again. At first Antonio did not know how. Sure, he wanted to teach math. But something had changed in him. He cared about his students in a new way and he was moved by what they had done together. He wanted to celebrate them. We got our students together, one more time. He said something special and personal to each one. He started with Jenna who had had the courage to speak to him first. To each one he told what he had learned from him or her and to each one he gave as many genuine compliments as came to him. He also shared with them, and with me, his appreciation for working through this with me.
Antonio discovered that he loved his students and that this love came before his love for math. He thought about teaching differently now. Instead of teaching to prove to them they could do math, he became interested in what they love. In turn, they became interested in what he loves and they fed off his playfulness with math. After he decided to spend time getting to know his students, they somehow needed less tutoring to succeed.
The community support lived on beyond the summer.
Something else changed too. Antonio started dating again. But that, too, was different. He got deeply interested in the person he was dating. And … he broke off with his tradition. We’ve been on more dates than I can count. Our students’ worst fear came true, but with an unexpected reversal: that summer never ended for us due to the renewed warmth of our community.