The nightmare began in a theater-rama type classroom. I filed in with the rest of the students. Desks were backed up six aisles and I chose one closest to the door. A giant whiteboard spanned ten feet of wall space before me. In the center, a large letter D loomed. A nightmare? D for dread. D was the final red mark, the last letter grade I received in high school algebra. That morning's breakfast, buttered toast and coffee churned in my stomach. I fought an urge to flee as the professor stepped up to the podium.

Dressed in khaki slacks and a white shirt, this washed-out persona of a man stood still, clearly able to hide in the expanse of the wall behind him. I strained to hear his voice, a barely audible, "blah, blah, blah."

I withdrew after the first week, because it was an option, because perhaps I wouldn't need algebra after all. The formulas were frustrating and at the age of 18, I had little patience for learning them. There was plenty of time later. This was college and for now I could choose courses like literature and psychology. Iambic pentameter and the puzzle of the schizophrenic mind fascinated me as did my literature professor when he recited poetry.

I admit my employment choices were limited, a short stint at McDonalds was my first job, and then pressing on I went from waitress to paste-up artist for the local newspaper. Later after getting married, my ambitions changed. I studied bookkeeping at a business college and worked a few years with my basic math skills, never believing I'd need much more to do with numbers.

Life steered me away from algebra but I made a comeback. At the age of 45, with two children nearly grown and my husband settled in his own business I wanted a challenge. A good friend talked of returning to college. She was able to use her old transcripts for credits.

I explained it to hubby this way. Housekeeping was growing boring with less and less to do. Only five of the seven rooms of my house needed any cleaning with the boys closing their bedroom doors in my face when I showed up with the vacuum. David, the family breadwinner, kept his desk in the office dust-free under layers of paperwork. Cooking seemed less appealing with the kids preferring foods cooked in the style of their own generation, fast, frozen and microwaveable. David enthusiastically agreed.

My counselor suggested math and science, because both subjects were completely absent from my transcripts. She suggested a placement exam. What a horrifying experience, but I muddled through and it landed me in pre-algebra. That first semester gave me some courage, but the next step up, beginning algebra? Day one had me staring blankly at room number 1046; a frozen woman with a dark green backpack. Finally someone shuffled behind me.

A boy about my son's age, "Are you going in?"

I nodded solemnly. He opened the door and entered, with me following behind, because I didn't want to take the lead and he never offered. My legs dragged to an empty seat two rows from the front. I set my backpack on the floor. The classroom was considerably smaller than a theater and the blackboard, only six feet wide this time, contained no letter D. Dread had been replaced with noisy laughter.

The professor was a nerd-hippy type that I felt immediate compassion for because he wore old flannel shirts too small for him from the Salvation Army. He joked away with me hardly noticing that my hand was taking notes. Everything on the board was written in numbered steps. I copied the steps. I practiced them every night on homework assignments and used them on exams. He used a basic psychological concept which I could appreciate given my past studies. Take baby steps first one at a time and it worked.

The next semester I was so impressed with my A in algebra I went for intermediate algebra although I heard it was terrifying, this from former students who hadn't been taught yet about baby steps. Sure I was afraid but I bravely entered the classroom surrounded by bright young 20-somethings.

The teacher was imposing, at approximately 6 foot 4. He admitted to the class that some of the students found him scary, both because he was tall and because he taught intermediate algebra. Then he did something impressive. While he was lecturing he kneeled to write on the board, and when he turned around to face the class he was eye level. He was very human about the whole thing. He knew psychology and I knew algebra.