You Do The Math

What a cool evening.

Boy was sitting at the kitchen table, last night, doing his homework. No, that isn't the amazing part. He had just cued up some music videos and was huddled over a worksheet when I cruised through the room. I tossed a glance over his shoulder and halted. At the top of the page, it said, "Algebra."

Now, I have to confess: math is not my friend. I use a calculator to do the simplest addition. I get cold sweats thinking about Doodle's fourth grade fractions. Math was the one subject in high school that I routinely flunked -- and I never took another math class once I graduated. (My liberal arts college didn't require it.)

But as I looked at the worksheet, I noticed that it was on equations, the "solve for x" kind. Oooh! I was actually good at those!

Most of mathematics defeated me. But there were a couple of topics that were less about the numbers and more about the logic. I rocked geometry, because it was like one long series of logic games. Prove a triangle is a triangle? Okay, no problem. I liked -- even loved -- those elegant proofs. They were like a dance, and once you mastered the steps, it was kind of fun. (To be fair, I also enjoyed diagramming sentences.)

Likewise, I could solve for x like nobody's business. I can do those, I said to Boy.

He looked at me skeptically, having heard (all his life) about my math allergy. Okay, he replied, do problem number four.

I snagged a pencil and gave it my best shot. I had fractions going on in there, ended up stumped for a moment on how to convert it to a decimal. Five point two, I said triumphantly.

Four point four, Boy answered, his deep voice just a shade away from condescension. No way. He whizzed through the steps and I saw he was right and I was so, so wrong. As my face fell, and I balled up the paper and threw it, hard, into the recycling bin, he offered, That's okay, Mom. You're good at English.

Well, now, them there's fighting words.

Give me another one, I said.

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. Try the last one. I can't do it.

I looked. There were two xs in that one. I snatched another piece of paper and started in.

All of a sudden, it all came back to me. It was easy. X equals 6, I said. Boy gave me a comical look of disbelief. He replaced the x with 6, did the math in his head, and stared at me, shocked. That's right, he said, on the cusp of total incredulity.

I then did probably the most offensive booty dance in the history of ever to the hip-hop song that was playing on the computer. I got it riiii-ight, I crowed. Boy's expression said, Please stop. You're embarrassing me, even though there is nobody else in the room. Rev came upstairs to see what the commotion was about.

And then I wrote on the homework sheet, "Mom got this one right!"

Algebraic equations living somewhere in the recesses of my middle aged, math-phobic brain? Who knew?

X = 6.

Best. Night. Ever.