Math

We had come to a conference to learn more about being better teachers, and it was the first session on Saturday morning.  Most educator conferences run Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and Friday night typically belongs to the publishers, software manufacturers, and other corporations who sell things to teachers.  They use the night to offer shrimp, tenderloin, a chocolate fountain, and an open bar to conference attendees.  The open bar tends to get the most attention, leading experienced conference attendees to refer to Friday night as Amateur Hour.

But this was Saturday at 8AM, the morning after the night before, and, for reasons passing understanding, the conference committee thought it wise to offer a session on teaching math.  The presenter was undeterred, an enthusiastic speaker who, right off the bat, shared that he was a born-again Christian.  Score one for the conference committee, who had the wisdom to make sure an early Saturday session was run by a teatotaller.

“My only job this morning is to get you see how math can be fun” he said, “so let’s get going.  I’ve got thirteen coins in my pocket, worth a dollar and sixty cents .  How many of each coin do I have?”

A few of the real go-getters pulled out a pen and started writing furiously on their conference programs, while someone in the back shouted out “three quarters, seven dimes, and three nickels.”

Most of the eager beavers put their pens away, realizing they would no longer be first across the line, but one held onto her pen fiercely, and pulled the paper she’d been writing on closer to her face.

“Actually” she said, “it’s five quarters, three dimes, and five pennies.”

And suddenly, the earth stood still.  Two correct answers to a math question?  What heresy is this?

With that, the speaker just smiled.

Welcome to the United States, arguably the only country in the world that conflates arithmetic and math.  Sure, we call it math, but think about it—at what point in your school career did the subject we call Math ever involve something other than four times five or the area of a rectangle?

And that, of course, is why most Americans cringe whenever math comes up.  Gin rummy was a popular card game when I was growing up, but people only played it under the condition they not be required to keep score.  Americans run from recipes from the beloved Great British Baking Show because measurement are in grams, not cups. And doing your own taxes?  Forget it.

There are a few Americans who look past all that, looking at math as a language, or a way of thinking.  Many of these people are economists, or engineers, who take everyday challenges—predicting the cost of gas in two years, making college more affordable, ending homelessness—and try to solve them by translating a pedestrian idea into math.  Often, that clears away the politics and the emotional tumult associated with too many problems, and creates a new, clear path towards a solution that makes life easier, sends people to the moon, or subdues world hunger.

Like the poets do, only with numbers.

So stop thinking you’re bad at math, just because you need five seconds more—or a calculator—to calculate 6 times 7. Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid shows you much of what math can do, particularly in music and art.  A whole new world of the possible awaits you; just be patient with yourself, and don’t dream of reading it after Amateur Hour.

For My Son

Oh to see
With fixed gaze
What the world tells you
In a glance.

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