Tenth Grade Geometry was the high point of my math career. I really, really got it. Toward the end of the year, we were given a standardized T/F test of 25 questions about whether something could be proved or not. I ripped through 24 of them, except #17. I spent 35 minutes on this one, until I finally could prove it was true. When we got back our test results, I got a 96, with #17 being marked wrong. Mr. Dalton briefly went over the answers, and asked if anybody had any questions. My hand shot up, and I declared that the answer to #17 was wrong. Surprised, he took a step toward me, and held out the chalk. 45 minutes later, as I dusted off my hands, everyone in the classroom agreed that the answer to #17 was wrong. He copied down my proof and sent it to the ivy-league university that had made up the test. (He changed my grade to 104, and gave everyone else credit for whatever answer they had marked for #17.) I had been given total respect, by a teacher, before the proof. He didn’t have to say anything.

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