My Teaching Philosophy

Keys to Success

Welcome! Our classroom is a place where every student can grow, learn, and thrive. Here's how we'll get there together:

Work Ethic

Show up each day ready to engage with the material and complete your homework thoughtfully. Hard work directly strengthens your understanding and prepares you to succeed on assessments.

Perseverance

Challenges don't mean you can't succeed—they mean you're learning. When something feels difficult, that's when growth happens. Keep working through it.

Consistency

Learning happens through steady effort, not in spurts. Commit to giving your best every day, and you'll see the results compound over time.

Teamwork

Respect and listen to your classmates. Everyone may take a different path to reach the same destination—and that's powerful. By exploring how others solve problems, you'll discover shortcuts, build flexibility in your thinking, and strengthen your own problem-solving toolkit. Use the method with which you are most comfortable, but stay curious about alternative approaches.

When you first learned to ride a bike, it felt impossible. You wobbled, you fell, you questioned why anyone would choose to do this. But with practice, something shifted. One day, you rode without thinking about it. The skill that once seemed insurmountable became automatic.

This is true for every skill worth learning—including math.

When you encounter a new concept in algebra, geometry, or calculus, it feels hard. Really hard. You might think, "I'm just not a math person," or "I'll never understand this." That feeling is not a sign of failure. It's a sign that you're learning something new.

Here's the truth: difficulty is the price of growth. When something feels hard, your brain is building new neural pathways, creating connections it didn't have before. That struggle is where learning happens.

Think about skills you've already mastered. Multiplication felt difficult in elementary school. Reading felt impossible before you learned letters. Driving felt overwhelming the first time you sat behind the wheel. But you practiced. You made mistakes. You asked questions. And gradually, the skill became easier—not because the skill changed, but because you changed.

The same is true in this class. When we learn a new problem-solving strategy, it will feel uncomfortable at first. You'll need to think carefully about each step. You'll make mistakes. You might need to ask for help. This is exactly what should happen. This is learning.

Here's what separates students who master math from those who don't: persistence through the difficult phase. The students who succeed are not necessarily smarter—they simply refuse to give up when something feels hard. They understand that difficulty is temporary. They practice. They ask questions. They rework the problem.

I've watched countless students transform their relationship with math by shifting their mindset. They stopped thinking, "I can't do this," and started thinking, "I can't do this yet." That one word—yet—changes everything.

So when you encounter a concept that feels impossible, remember: you've overcome impossible things before. This skill will become easy with practice. Your job is to keep practicing, keep asking questions, and keep showing up—even when it feels hard. Especially when it feels hard.

The difficulty you feel right now is not a barrier to success. It's the pathway to it.

When are we ever going to use this stuff?

Even before we enter kindergarten, we learn math as we learn to count. In elementary school, we learn how to add, subtract, multiply, and divide numbers. We learn about fractions, decimals, and exponents. We apply these basic skills to solve real world problems every day.

Then in middle school, math class changes from mastering essential skills to solving much more complex problems. We are introduced to variables and algebra.

I have heard parents, guardians, and students complain that the skills learned in high school math will never be used outside of the classroom. I'll concede it's unlikely you will calculate the slope of line after graduation, unless you pursue a career in engineering or construction. You may never need to factor a quadratic expression after taking the ACT exam. However, we don't necessarily study high school mathematics to master math skills.

I frequently hear student-athletes talk about investing time in the weight room. Yet, when I attend sporting events, I've never seen barbells on a field, court, mat, or diamond. When I ask why athletes would waste time lifting weights if there aren't barbells in their competitions, I am told athletes lift weights to strengthen their muscles and increase stamina.

Likewise, we study mathematics to make our brains stronger. The skills learned in algebra, geometry, trigonometry, and calculus teach us logic, reasoning, and critical thinking. For example, in geometry, we use deductive reasoning to determine if triangles are congruent. While you may never need to prove triangles are congruent outside of the classroom, you will use deductive reason every day:

Mechanics use deductive reasoning to determine what is wrong with a machine and how to fix it.
Salespersons use deductive reasoning to promote their products.
Detectives use deductive reasoning to solve crimes.
Politicians use deductive reasoning to earn your vote.
Physicians use deductive reasoning to diagnose illnesses.
Attorneys use deductive reasoning to prove their cases in court.
Entrepreneurs use deductive reasoning to secure funding from investors.
I am using deductive reasoning to convince you to take math class seriously.

In short, we are using math to teach students to think for themselves about increasingly complex ideas. We study math to strengthen our minds - building the mental tools you'll use throughout life.

Do or do not. There is no 'try'.

You've probably heard this famous line from Yoda in The Empire Strikes Back. If you haven't seen the clip, take a look.

It shows Luke Skywalker attempting to lift his X-Wing starfighter out of a swamp using the Force. He fails and says, "I can't. It's too big." Yoda responds with this now-iconic wisdom: "Do or do not. There is no try."

At first, this might sound harsh. But Yoda is teaching Luke something profound about the difference between trying and doing.

What Does "Trying" Really Mean?

When we say "I'll try," we're often giving ourselves an escape hatch. We're saying, "I'll make an effort, but if it doesn't work out, that's okay—I tried." Trying is conditional. It leaves room for failure before we've even started.

Think about it this way: If you tell yourself "I'll try to solve this problem," you've already planted the seed of doubt. You've given yourself permission to quit. You've made an excuse for failure that you can use before you've truly committed.

The Difference Between Trying and Doing

Doing is different. When you commit to doing something, you're all in. You're not looking for an escape route. You're not hedging your bets. You've made a decision: this will be done.

Trying = "I hope this works out."
Doing = "This will work out because I won't stop until it does."

When Luke says he'll try to lift the X-Wing, Yoda knows he's already lost. Luke doesn't believe in himself. He's expecting to fail. And sure enough, he does. But when Luke shifts his mindset—when he stops trying and commits to doing—everything changes. He can lift the X-Wing.

What This Means in Our Classroom

In math class, I'm going to ask you to do hard things. I'm going to give you problems that stretch your thinking. I'm going to push you beyond what feels comfortable. And here's what I need from you: commitment, not attempts.

When you encounter a difficult problem, I don't want to hear "I'll try." I want to see you do:

Ask questions until you understand.
Work through the problem step by step, even if it takes time.
Make mistakes, learn from them, and improve your strategies.
Stay engaged until you solve it or reach a stopping point where you've genuinely given your best effort.

There's a world of difference between "trying" a problem for 30 seconds before giving up, and doing the work of understanding it.

The Power of a "Can Do" Attitude

Yoda's message is ultimately about belief. Luke failed because he didn't believe he could succeed. His doubt became a self-fulfilling prophecy. But the moment he shifted his mindset—the moment he believed it was possible—he did it.

This applies to every challenge you'll face in this class and beyond:

When you believe you can understand geometry, you approach it differently. You ask better questions. You persist longer.
When you believe you can master a new problem-solving strategy, you practice with purpose instead of going through the motions.
When you believe you can improve your grade, you give your very best.

Belief doesn't guarantee success, but disbelief almost guarantees failure.

Determination and Persistence

Yoda also teaches us about determination—the unwavering commitment to see something through. Determination means:

You don't quit when something gets hard.
You don't make excuses.
You don't settle for "good enough" when you know you can do better.
You keep going, even when progress feels slow.

Persistence is determination over time. It's showing up day after day, week after week, committed to improvement. The students who excel in my class aren't always the ones with the highest natural math ability. They're the ones who participate in class (rather than just attending), who ask questions, who refuse to give up.

The Danger of "Trying"

Here's the hard truth: if you go into this class planning to try, you're already planning to fail. You're giving yourself an out. And I won't accept that—not because I'm harsh, but because I believe you're capable of more.

When you walk into this classroom, I want you to commit to doing—to fully engaging, to asking for help when you need it, to working through challenges instead of around them, to believing in your ability to grow.

In Short

Yoda wasn't being philosophical for philosophy's sake. He was telling Luke—and he's telling you—that the difference between success and failure often comes down to one thing: whether you're trying or doing.

So here's my challenge: Don't try in this class. Do. Commit fully. Believe in yourself. Persist through difficulty. And watch what becomes possible.

I'm your coach, not your opponent.

In sports, a coach wants their athletes to succeed. A coach pushes players to work harder, think smarter, and perform better—not to break them down, but to build them up. A coach celebrates victories and learns from defeats. A coach believes in their players even when the players doubt themselves.

That's the role I want to fill in this classroom.

I'm not here to catch you making mistakes or to prove that you can't do math. I'm not your adversary. I'm on your team. My job is to help you become stronger, sharper, and more confident in your ability to solve complex problems.

What This Means

When I give you challenging assignments, I'm not trying to trick you or make you fail. I'm training your brain. When I ask you to show your work, I'm not looking for reasons to deduct points—I'm looking for opportunities to understand your thinking and help you improve. When I push back on incomplete effort, I'm not being harsh. I'm refusing to accept less than I know you're capable of.

A coach doesn't let their players coast. A coach demands their best because they believe in their potential.

How We Work Together

Just like an athlete needs a coach, you need support to master math. Here's what that partnership looks like:

You show up ready to work. You come to class prepared, you attempt the problems, you ask questions when you're stuck.
I meet you where you are. I listen to your questions, I explain concepts in different ways, I provide extra help when you need it. You are never an interruption to my work—you are the reason I'm here.
We both stay committed. When you struggle, we don't give up. We figure it out together. When you succeed, we celebrate it.

The Difference Between a Coach and an Opponent

An opponent wants you to lose. An opponent hopes you'll make mistakes. An opponent celebrates your failures.

A coach wants you to win. A coach helps you learn from mistakes. A coach celebrates your growth, even when the journey is messy.

I'm choosing to be your coach. I'm choosing to believe in you. I'm choosing to invest in your success. The question is: are you willing to let me?

What I Need From You

If I'm going to be your coach, I need you to trust the process. That means:

Trust that the challenging problems are making you stronger, not breaking you down.
Trust that when I ask you to redo work, it's because I see potential in you.
Trust that my high expectations come from believing you can meet them.
Trust that I'm here to help you succeed, not to watch you fail.

A coach-athlete relationship only works when both sides are committed. I'm committed to you. I'm committed to your growth. I'm committed to your success.

Now it's your turn.

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