Moist palms…acoustic heart beat…anime forhead sweat in full effect!
What time is it you ask? It’s time for me to rise to the occasion. It’s time for Ray Charles (R.I.P) to lead Stevie Wonder. It’s time to act like the Mr. Jessup’s 7th grade math class chalkboard debaucle never happened.
It’s time for me to help my kids with their math homework.
I wonder if their teachers understand how traumatic this is for parents like me. When new concepts are introduced I can’t be trusted to give that annoyingly short explanation at the top of the worksheet a once over and be ready to helm their boat of understanding. No, I have to go and Google math tutorial videos that invariably feature a narrator that sounds like Bob Ross. Only he’s ‘painting’ mathmatic masterpieces with a happy little exponent right over here… Meanwhile my child is witnessing my look of sheer panic and patiently waiting for me to finish ‘re-acquainting’ myself with whatever the concept is. My eldest usually figures it out before I arrive at my Eureka! moment and tries (but fails) to conceal her look of ‘Really Mom? Really’?
My other child, Sensitive Smurf, can’t forge ahead without me. He really needs me to shake off the nightmare of Dr. Najee-Ullah’s College Algebra triplicate F—thats right folks, I failed College Algebra 3 times—and help him borrow, carry, solve for x, and find out how fast the 8:00 train from Bismark is going while scientifically notating.
At every math homework session I have to ward off visions of my child working at Checker’s or trash collecting (not that there’s anything wrong with that), because I passed the Mathmatically challenged gene on to him. I really do try my darndest to approach math with an open mind and a can-do spirit, but my history clouds my disposition. When all else fails and I’ve tried Binary Bob Ross, phoning a friend and whispering a prayer, I resort to the best kept internet secret, www.WolframAlpha.com.
Heaven forbid the teacher issues this panic inducing edict: Show your work.