Proof

I remember clearly when I realized I was not even close to being a strong mathematician. I was a strong student School came pretty easily for me for awhile, and I did fairly well on tests. So well, in fact, that I was accepted into our fair city's premier magnet school in fifth grade. I had never gotten below a B, ever, on anything. So when I got to sixth grade and found a big, red C on the top of one of my math papers, I felt that leaden stone in my stomach that I'd come to know intimately throughout the rest of my mathematical career. Math tutors, extra help, studying, homework . . .  none of it turned on that lightbulb in that particular part of my brain. I always felt a year or two behind when it came to math. I got to seventh grade math and, whoa man, I took about 89 sick days that year just to avoid protractors and, wait, compasses? Are those even math tools? Bottom line: it wasn't working for me.

Math, in general, is an academic discipline that eludes me. I have a pretty strong grasp on the basics of addition, subtraction, multiplication, division; percentages and fractions and basic algebra are cemented somehow in my brain, though if asked to metacognitively explain a solution, I'd be hard pressed. There are mathematical concepts that seem absolutely ridiculous to me: why the hell are there IMAGINARY numbers? Math, for me, may as well have been Mandarin or Cyrillic: a language that was so outside my understanding, with characters that made zero sense to my brain.

Proving the stereotype once again, folks.

Eventually when I reached high school (and miraculously was still attending my academically outstanding school) I had a math teacher who, with great patience, helped me not only pass his class but get a super high grade on the Regents exam. And I was lucky enough to have this teacher for three straight years. Every September I'd look at my new schedule and see "B. Soffin" next to the math course and do a little skippity-do with glee. I knew it would be a long, challenging year, but I'd pass that exam and not be spending my summer at the local public high school retaking math until I turned 75. Somehow Mr. Soffin had the magic mojo; when I sat for those exams in June I always, miraculously, did really well.

I don't know that I actually learned math, per se, or if I just learned how to take the exam and figure out the answers. We did, for the last month of two of school, use review books and take practice exams exclusively. Whatever. I'm not in high school anymore, am I? And Mr. Soffin helped build my shattered math confidence back up. 

What I always really liked in math was something I felt was more appropriate for a philosophy course. I liked it because there were no numbers to confuse. The logic tables, I think they're called, were fascinating. 

If A and B, then C.

I find myself using this logic often, even if I can't remember the tables' exact symbols and meanings.

If She had lived, He would not be here.

She is dead, therefore She is not here.

If She is dead, was She ever really alive?

OK, that last one shows my weak understanding of how the logic works. 

I stumble on that last one. Since she's dead, and I never knew her, was she ever really here? This time of year I can't help but remember those last weeks with her. We were hurtling head-first towards a brick wall and didn't even know it. And still we never even got to know her. Who do I remember? Who do I miss?

Math brain, dead baby brain. It's all so confusing, still.