Knowing

The number one reason adults don’t return to college is math.  Most of them have jobs, many have families, and college isn’t typically free– all good reasons.  But the number one doubt in the eyes of every 29-year-old student I talked to when I was a community college counselor showed up when they said, “Do I have to do any math?”

Enter Mr. Nelson.  A retired professional, Mr. Nelson worked as a tutor at the community college.  When a diffident student showed up in counseling during registration, unsure just what to do about math, the counselor walked them to Mr. Nelson, who would pull out a blank piece of paper, and write a math problem at the top.  “Can you do this?” he’d ask, sitting down.

From there, things depended on the student.  If that problem was a breeze, Mr. Nelson had a second, more challenging one.  If the student just sat there for a while, Mr. Nelson had a follow-up designed both to test the student’s math acumen and give them reassurance.  After about ten minutes of providing problems, Mr. Nelson would stand up and say “Math 115” or the number of the math course the student should take.

And he was never wrong.

The floor of the local hardware store was fairly worn everywhere, but there was a special indentation in the linoleum that led from the front door to the service counter in the back.  With great regularity, especially on Saturdays, well-to-do auto junior executives disguised as average homeowners would bring used grocery bags filled with rusted, torn innards of toilets, vacuum cleaners, garage doors, and more, and march straight to the counter, where Dale awaited them. 

Without a word, Dale solemnly unwrapped the bag’s booty, flipped over each part a couple of times, and headed out from behind the counter. He’d periodically throw a question over his shoulder—“Hoover?”  “Kenmore?”—so one did well to pay attention, until he arrived at just the right spot in Aisle 6, or 3, or 13, pulled three items off the pegboard in front of him, and handed them over, along with the reminder “WD-40 is in Aisle 9.”

I had just spent more money for a suit that I loved than I had any real business spending, living off of one income, with a small child at home.  The excitement of having something this nice almost made me forget how nervous I was buying it, until the salesperson said, “OK, so now we go see Frank.”

Nattily dressed in his own right, Frank had shocks of grey hair on either side of his bald pate, grey half-spectacles perched on his nose.  He draped my soon-to-be-suit over the display case, sighed, then quickly produced about a half-dozen ties in his right hand. 

As I saw the ties, my competing thoughts were:

• I can’t afford the suit, let alone a tie
• Is he insane, none of these ties go with this suit

And then he flopped them on the suit, one at a time, each one melting harmoniously with the fabric, bringing something different but wonderful out in the pattern. I could only afford one, but I wore that tie until it was threadbare.

These are the moments that take us somewhere else, to that special place our grown-up, realistic, tired selves preserve with the hope that its hopes will be realized. It is what we think life should be all the time, and try to make life more of in our daily deeds.

It is primitive testimony to the power of faith.

Drones

The purple petals designed
To lure the nectar pilots
Did their job too well
It seems.
For there he is
Souvenir heavy
From other stamen
Dozing in
The involuntary cot it forms.

We ponder this in awe
Respectful of all nature offers
But the tie-laden colleague
Who left at ten
And back at five
Is questioned by his penchant for coffee
While on deadline.
He too is a busy bee
In need of purple repose
Or at least
From office buzz.

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