With the government rolling out a new maths curriculum, it’s high time to pay more attention to a little-known but significant condition that could be holding thousands of Kiwi kids back, suggests Phil Parker, who shares his own struggles with maths.
Opinion: I was in my fourth year of convent primary school in Palmerston North. While I was doing well at most schoolwork, it became obvious that I had a huge struggle with arithmetic.
I was fortunate that my class teacher, Sister Annette, picked up on this and gave me after-school tuition. Consequently, my grades improved considerably, and I ended up second in class. The apex of my academic career to date.
Unfortunately, our family soon moved to Wellington and the change of schools saw a rapid decline in my maths. The tiny Eastbourne school had just two classrooms, with a roll of about 100 kids, and my room was a mixture of new entrants and older grades. The grumpy elderly nun had no time or empathy for slow learners.
I was explicitly and implicitly given the message that I was very stupid. I struggled to remember times tables, having limited ability for rote learning. And I remember having to write 7 x 9 = 63, 30 times on the blackboard during class time as punishment. The embarrassment and mental closedown still hit whenever I have to publicly do mental arithmetic. Just recently, someone asked me how many years I was a physiotherapist. I said 12. It is actually 22.
Intermediate and secondary school were just as disastrous, but Mum paid for extra tuition to help me just scrape through in maths. Paradoxically, I did very well in subjects with little or no numbers involved: English, biology, art and French.
And while not exactly the class clown, I had a reputation for cartooning and a good sense of humour, so I bonded with the funny, academic kids who weren’t into sports. Either I am quite smart or I’m an IQ groupie.
By 7th form, physics had morphed into maths, chemistry required huge amounts of rote learning, and maths itself was a dizzying cluster of calculus, trigonometry and algebra. To this day, I have recurrent nightmares about being ill-prepared on the eve of a calculus exam.
At that point, I simply gave up.
My maths textbook stayed untouched in my desk for the whole year. And at the same time, my parents’ marriage crashed. My headmaster was sympathetic and gave me a literal hall pass if I stayed on until the end of the year to achieve a Higher Leaving Certificate. It was a good social year; I just read books in class and hung out with my mates on the weekend.
At the end of the year, I worked at McKenzies city variety store. It was terrifying, because the tills did not calculate change. I was pulled up by supervisors for short-changing some customers quite by accident. Giving change became an anxious, blush-ridden sweat-fest.
On the strength of UE, I gained a place as a student in the new Auckland School of Physiotherapy. Lucky for me, physio was a three-year diploma course with very little maths, plus I discovered a love of anatomy and got good grades in my first year. Again, I struggled with rote learning during the next two years and just scraped through with a C- pass.
What was going on?
As an adult, I learnt about dyscalculia, a learning disorder that “disrupts a person’s ability to understand numbers and math-related concepts”. SPELD NZ, a non-profit that specialises in assisting those with dyslexia and other specific learning disabilities, says it is the No 1 cause of maths weakness that you’ve never heard of.
But we know very little about it, despite it affecting around 6% of the population. SPELD NZ executive officer Jeremy Drummond says, unlike its counterpart dyslexia, there is little awareness and minimal research into dyscalculia.
“Classroom teachers are often perplexed by children with dyscalculia,” says Drummond. “Many remain undiagnosed and are often labelled lazy and unfocused. There is also little appreciation of how debilitating dyscalculia can be for adults. They are often very vulnerable in their day-to-day life when it comes to activities such as handling finances, shopping, keeping track of time, and following directions.”
Research shows dyscalculia is due to a difference in how the brain is wired. What we know now that we didn’t in the past, is that the brain can change. Early assessment and specialised one-on-one intervention can help students acquire the number skills they need to achieve at school and cope with adult life. However, tutors specialising in dyscalculia are few and far between, and the cost may be out of reach for many.
To drive meaningful change, we need to raise widespread awareness that dyscalculia is a legitimate neurological disorder and empower educators with training and tools to detect dyscalculia early and implement evidence-based interventions. Children with dyscalculia need a structured, systematic approach to building number sense. They also require far more repetition and time to learn.
Drummond says the good news for motivated parents and educators is that there are excellent webinars, books, resources and advice readily available through international experts on dyscalculia, such as Ronit Bird and Dr Steve Chinn.
Dyscalculia isn’t just about maths ability.
As an adult, I still struggle with keeping track of schedules and calendars, managing deadlines and budgeting time. Also, following maps, understanding measurements, remembering directions, playing games that require counting or calculating scores, and even remembering complicated dance steps. Dancing with Dyscalculics probably wouldn’t fly as a TV show.
Now that I’m in my late 60s, I can happily own being dyscalculic and no longer beat myself up for being a dimwit. I previously thought I was the only one in the world, but now I have found my tribe, which includes Cher, Mary Tyler Moore, Bill Gates, Robbie Williams and Hans Christian Andersen.
Rather than seeing it as a deficit, I believe that neurodiversity and plasticity have gifted me with creative problem-solving skills, strong verbal abilities, and talents in art, music, comedy and journalism.
Freelance journalist Phil Parker is a former physiotherapist who now works as wine writer and tour guide.
