Those Pesky Numbers

My brain just doesn't do numbers.  I love words. I love how they sound, what they mean, and what you can do with them.  I just love words.  Numbers are another story.  They never seem to do what I want them to.  That's why I keep the farm accounts on Quicken.  All I have to do is make sure I enter the numbers right and the computer makes them do their thing. It's genetic.  My dad wasn't a number person either.  My mother, on the other hand, could make a spreadsheet balance to the penny while carrying on a conversation with a customer. Both my husband and daughter tend to think in numbers.  I don't and unfortunately, my son inherited my genes on that one.

When I was in college I had a chemistry teacher that looked a lot like a cheery Santa, but that's where the resemblance ended.  I lived in terror of his lightning attacks on hapless students who didn't meet up to his expectations.  Although, as he constantly informed us, his expectations were low because he knew we weren't very capable. While returning a quiz we had taken the day before, he roared out to me.  "I don't understand it!  You should have gotten a A!  You worked everything correctly, you used the correct formulas and the proper equations but you still managed to GET THE WRONG ANSWERS!!!!  TELL ME THE REASON!"  Without pausing, he continued to the amusement of the entire class. "I'll tell you why!  You can't add 2 plus 2 without getting 5!!!"  Cowering in my seat, I could only nod in agreement.  In those days before calculators, I was constantly making silly, careless errors.  Numbers just didn't like me.  I understood the methods, the reactions, the formulas, I just couldn't make all those numbers behave.

It didn't take me long to decide my career choices probably wouldn't include being an accountant or chemist.

Fortunately, the career I chose let me play with words to my hearts content.

My son, who as I mentioned was the unfortunate recipient of my "no-numbers" gene, was having a rough time with an Algebra assignment while in high school.  At the time I was working as a substitute teacher whenever they needed me.  It was a standing joke in the teacher's lounge that I was willing and able (especially in English, geography, history and even in Ag)  but I was hopeless in teaching a math class unless it was VERY basic!!  Still I felt obligated to attempt to help out my struggling son.  We managed to wade through most of the problems with some success (as verified by the answers thoughtfully given in the back of the book) but one had just plain stumped us.  After trying it several different ways, my son was all for just giving up and leaving it unanswered.  I just kept insisting we try one more thing (did I mention that I am also stubborn?)  We worked and worked and finally achieved a solution that arrived at the correct answer. I was jubilant.  He was just relieved that I would finally let him go to bed.

The next day I was subbing in one of the classes at school.  As I made my way down the hall after lunch,  the algebra teacher flagged me down from his room.  "You helped Mike with is homework didn't you?' he inquired with a laugh.  "Why?  Weren't the answers correct?'  I replied with a little hesitation.  "Oh, yes.  They were correct.  Every one of them.  Even that hard one at the end."  he answered with a little laugh.  "Well, then.  What makes you so sure I helped with them?"  I asked, a little more sharply.  "Because," he said laughing heartily, "In 20 years of teaching algebra I have never seen anyone use that method or logic to get an answer and get it right.  I have spent all day trying to duplicate it on the board with my classes.  With only limited success, mind you.  You are the only person I know that could have created that solution!!"  Still laughing he waved me down the hall.

As I hurried on to my own classroom I couldn't decide if I had been complemented or insulted. 

Like I said my brain just doesn't do numbers like everyone else.