So, I have this weird relationship with math.
That’s really the best way to describe it because I have told myself I’m bad at it, and maybe I am, and maybe I’m not.
Regardless, here’s my math story.
So, in elementary school, I was always reasonably good at math, but my major issue was my poor handwriting. Now we know that Autistic people often have trouble with fine motor control and we can take a lot longer to develop those skills. You can either yell at us like we’re trying to torment you with our bad handwriting or you could be a reasonable person and let us type things for a while. One, typing develops fine motor control and two, it means our work is legible in the meantime while our bodies catch up with those of our peers. It’s literally no big deal.
But back in the 1980’s, that was not an option. Instead, every report card and parent-teacher conference embarrassed you about your poor writing. Your teachers even might give you extra credit if you voluntarily submitted yourself to handwriting practice because you definitely needed it. So, if you know anything about math in the age of “no calculators allowed until Algebra,” you’d know that poor handwriting was a significant problem in math class because you would mess things up a lot. The thing of it was, though, my fifth-grade teacher saw that I was more than competent at math and somehow he made sure I was placed in the top math class when I got to Middle School. I think he noticed my attempts at working on my handwriting, and I was getting older, so it was getting better.
That was the peak of my mathematical career: getting placed in that class.