May 20, 2009

Dear ________,

Almost ten years ago, my AP English teacher handed me an envelope, which I keep safely

ensconced in my yearbook, pressed between the pages preserving some moment in time, and

brought out and handled every so often to remind me of days past. In that letter, he thanked me

(in his words) “for the gift of your being.”

Exactly one year and two days ago, I sat down at my computer and penned a letter to my senior

students. I don’t know why I felt compelled to do such a thing. But I guess spending nine months

with someone creates an attachment that isn’t easy to let go of.

And finally, just today, I was hit by an end-of-year-i-can’t-believe-the-year-we’ve-had-i-can’t-

imagine-next-year-not-seeing-you-seniors-in-the-hallways-or-elevator moment. Believe me, it’s

not true – no matter what your teachers may let on – that we love all our classes. Especially

because of that fact, I want you to know: teaching you has been super enjoyable for me. I have

learned so much from you. Not in the ways of mathematics (of which I have all of you schooled),

but about – yes, I’m about to get all annoyingly over-dramatic on you now – the human

condition.

Take a moment, and remember the day you first came to class, and what you knew. You were

mathematical infants, with only a few symbols on your coat of arms: + , − , × , , .

Throughout the year, you sewed limx a→

, ∞ , d

dx, and ∫ onto your shield, and vanquished such

exotic creatures as L’Hôpital, implicit differentiation, and the Fundamental Theorem of Calculus

(Part II, no less!) in some pretty epic intellectual battles. For many of you, I am pretty sure there

were times that you felt like you were knocked down and probably wouldn’t be able to get up.

Hey, buddy, calculus ain’t always easy. If it were, they’d teach it to the fourth graders, yo.

If you save this letter and come back to read it ten years from now, just know that at one point in

your life, you actually could find ''( / 4)F π if ( ) sin( )cos( )

x

F x t t dtπ

= ∫ , and prove and

understand

2

1

b

a

dyL dx

dx

= +

∫ . You’ve come a long way, baby. (And if you are reading this

ten years from now and don’t know what these symbols mean, you’ve lost a lot along the way,

kiddo!)

But back to the human condition. Whether you retain all of this mathematical mumbo jumbo isn’t

really that important to me.1 But for nine months, we inhabited a little universe together in S403.

In this time, you’ve had your fill of little frustrations, small successes, and unexpected triumphs

as we journeyed into unfamiliar terrain. Physicist and childhood hero of mine, Richard Feynman,

once said:

I was born not knowing, and have had only a little time to change that here and there.

To me, that is the human condition. Learn, growing, working through frustration, and most

importantly, feeling the triumph of success when you finally get that key idea. The moments in

class when those inadvertent Ah!s slipped out, or when I finally get it!s were exclaimed… those

were the moments I loved the most.

So thank you for those moments, and yes, also “for the gift of your being.” Thank you for making

the year enjoyable and for genuinely working hard.

When you go off to college, just don’t lose sight of what you don’t know, and really relish the

journey of turning what you don’t know into what you do know. The more you learn, the less you

will come to realize you truly know. Sisyphean, perhaps, but each time you push that boulder you

get a little bit stronger and the task becomes just a little bit easier.

Forgive this mere math teacher the literary license he took in this letter. Sentimentality does him

no good.

With all sincerity and best wishes,

Sameer Shah

1 Yeah, I hope you do, but let’s be honest here: I can barely remember what I ate for lunch two days ago or if I have a meeting during

G band tomorrow. I certainly don’t remember what I learned in Mr. Parent’s English class ten years ago.