Friends, Please indulge me. 

Today would have been my Dad's 78th Birthday. 

Happy Birthday Dad. I miss you. No one has ever or could ever fill your shoes. No exclamation points, just how it is.

But you know, the memories of you are super! I miss our talks and our weekly trips. I have met people who don't know you but share a kindred spirit in the sense of caring for their own kids and other kids as well, people who go beyond the barriers of just feeding and clothing their kids. These are people who go the distance to touch lives for no other reason than the caring hearts that they have.

I see you Dad. Not just in my family but hidden away in the hearts of others. I try to look for you when things don't go well. .. It is then that I feel you are sending strong people to be around me. Hearts that care, hearts that are strong, hearts that push through the daily struggles that try to force us to give up. Thank you for who you were, are and will always be to me. I love you.

MATH

Math

~75% of all Americans are poor at Math…That's nearly half. ~

I have Math Anxiety.  I know this is a term that can have several meanings but what it means to me is a lot more.   Math has always been a bane to my existence.

 In elementary school we were force to write our answers on the chalk board for all to see.  We would go up by rows and show our skill to the rest of the class.  I would freak and never be able to do it quickly.  I was a finger counter and still occasionally use my digits to do math.  We sat in alphabetical order and Teresa Gilbert sat in front of me my first few years of school... and she was great with math.  The problem was given and she would write the figures down and solve it at the same time.  I and my board mates were still writing it down as she finished  up. 

My imagination would extend for the time I had up at the board to an infinity with fellow class mates laughing at my stupidity for not being able to finish.  It was at this time I learned that I had great peripheral vision and could see Teresa's work out of the corner of my eye.  Rather than risk the stigma of being called "stupid" I cheated.  I used her answer to stay up with the class.  I never finished fast because I thought that would give it away.  I pretended to think it through by touching the numerals with my chalk.  Finally I would swoop the numbers down and go back to my seat while others struggled to finish their work.  This usually went well, but Teresa's family also traveled and she would sometimes go with them.  This  left me next to Sam Lumberton who was as skilled as math as I was.  To look at his answer was to invite trouble.  I would try to finish before him, but the numbers always looked so foreign to me and I usually didn’t get the know-how to finish before one of the teachers would call me out and publically humiliate me by pretending to help me go through all the steps. 

   

 "You remember this Kenneth, you did it yesterday.  Teresa was beside you and you finished right after she did."

I was not sure whether the teacher was playing dumb or if she was really dumb, either way, I was worried. 

Years of embarrassment of having to pass my paper back one person to let another student grade as I received the one in front of me.  One year In Algebra I sat all the way in the back.  After a hard night of trying to figure out my homework I had to pass my paper to the front as everyone else passed theirs back.  The girl on the front row was loud and nasal.  She raised her hand and spoke at the same time with out being acknowledged.  Yes, I remember her name.

    "Mrs. Ratcliff, I don’t think Kenneth did the right ones, he didn’t get any of the answers right"  More public humiliation.  I hated math, I wasn’t too fond of that girl either.  Years of math torture and humiliation. 

     Jump ahead a few years, college. Stood in line to register for being an electrical engineer, I had always loved tinkering with electronics.  The counselor on the other side put down the syllabus of all the classes I would need to complete my major. 

"Whoa, Mr.  I am afraid you misunderstood me, I wanted to be an electrical engineer, not a math major."

"Yes."

"Yes, what?  There are over 3 math classes for each semester of this program. "

"Correct. You have to have that to graduate."

I slid down to the next chair and looked at the man behind the table.  "What have you got I asked?"

"Theatre, he replied."

"How much math is involved in the major?"

"Just one college algebra class during the second semester."

I looked at the first man and took the syllabus of the theatre degree and signed my name.  I should have signed it in blood.  Who knew what I was getting into.  I thought  practically no math and I can meet a lot of girls.  I discovered that people who work in colleges will lie to you about what the major consist of.  I had more math in theatre than I had ever seen.  You have to have math to figure up how to build sets, focus lights, and budget a show.  This came okay with me because I never believed it was real math.  I struggled three times to pass college algebra only to withdraw each time.  It always held me back and kept my grade point average at a lower level.  Finally, it made me leave school.  I had done all my other classes but lacked the math I needed to graduate, I gave up.

Jump ahead to a later date.  Back in school, determined to graduate.  When you are gone for a while the schools will determine that you need at least two years of giving them unorthodox amounts of money to cover things they feel like you have forgotten.  Finished all my classes with straight 'A's, I had not forgotten….then came the math class. 

I am sorry to say I can not remember the teacher's name, she was a true artist.  Not the kind of artist that draws or paints or sings, but she was an artist with math.  She saw it in ways that most people could not understand.  She would sit in the lobby of the student union and work math problems for fun.  I thought at the time that she was mentally disturbed. She was encouraging and dedicated to show me how to work problems out.  I fought to keep my focus on the work.  I went home and worked on math for hours and days.  I went to co workers who were good at math to show me certain things.  I asked my Dad and Mom to help as well.  Both of them savants with math.  Mom was a great teacher, but Dad could do the figures in his head and would tell me if my answers were correct or not. 

     It is here that I need to say that my math anxiety  ruled my temper.  If I couldn’t do the math, I would get mad at it and shut down my thoughts.  If it didn’t work the way I thought it was supposed to then it was not right.  My anger was intense with math.  My Mom and Dad were saints.  They put up with my explosive hatred, yes, hatred of numbers.  But, after five weeks of working on nothing else but math I was getting a pretty good rhythm in finishing with the right answers.  Then the questions got harder, but I stayed with it.  One night I was trying to work a problem and told my Dad the problem as well. I could see him struggling with it as well.  I was worried.  He, for the first time, pulled out a piece of paper and wrote something down, greek I think and then talked me through finishing it for myself and I understood.  Really understood what he was talking about.  I finished that nights work and closed my book taking my first real breath with out sighing. He looked at me and smiled. 

"You know, she is teaching you more than Algebra don’t you?"

"What? I replied"

"She is teaching you trigonometry and higher levels of math than just college algebra."

"That witch, I said." 

Then he just laughed.  He said to me,

"You haven't worked on plain algebra for at least two weeks.  What you are doing  is the math that I have to do in figuring up roadway designs and bridges."

 I couldn’t argue with him.  I just didn’t know.

I wish I could tell you all that I made an "A" in that class.  It would be a cold hearted lie.  I was worried about passing.  Working homework was one thing, but taking tests was another.  The last night of class I struggled with the beast inside of me to keep my temper in check and not shut down at the insanity of math.  I was stressed and the last to finish the test by at least 45 minutes.  The teacher smiled at me when I turned in the paper, she knew  the trouble I was going through.  The next morning and most of the day I worried about passing, about fighting this dragon that chased me through life.  I am by no means an unintelligent person, but math crippled me.  Then about three in the afternoon I got a call from my teacher, she thought I would like to know the results of the test before she posted them.  I took a deep breath…

"You passed."

 I thanked her profusely and hung up the phone.  Then I cried and shook all over, a soft cry that shook from within and released a warrior who could do anything.  I had defeated the one thing in my life that I felt held me back.  My last dragon was slain.  The future is mine.

~Curtain~

Hello to my younger self. (50ish talking to Jr. High self)

Hey you.  Hold on, don’t get in such a hurry.  Trust in your abilities.  Believe in yourself, take more chances.  Take some risks.  Lose some weight and learn about carbs.  Don't worry about the bullies, just stay clear as much as possible and don’t let them define who you are and who you can become.  If they beat you down every day, then stand back up every day and say, "see ya' tomorrow".  Focus on the things that will get you through.  Discover all aspects of the things around you.

 The teachers who are there in school are human too...Don't be quick to judge, but learn to move fast anyway… " Talk to the girls even the dorky ones, it doesn’t mean that you like them in a romantic sense, it just means that there are other people out there that  can be your friends and support group.  Be kind to everyone, everyone has bad days and needs to be brought up.  Don't judge to harshly...

Find a way to get more academic, but also stay close to the fun classes as well.  Art is an oasis, enjoy what it teaches.  No, Mrs. Swayze's Pacer car isn't as cool as you think it is.  Listen in her class, that is one of the few you like.  Get comic book friends sooner, this will help you survive. Don’t bring your best ones to school.

In the cafeteria, eat slowly, stay in as much as possible and stay out of the courtyard.  The courtyard is a target zone for your minority. Watch what you eat in the cafeteria, if others are getting sick from it, then stay away.  Believe the ones that say they are going to throw up and step back.  Teachers eat in the cafeteria as well, Watch out for their illnesses too. Mr. Hayes is not immune to food poisoning just because he's a farmer.

Don't ever bring money with you to school, if you do, keep it in your shoe.  If it is in your pocket it will be found by someone hitting against you.  If you leave it in your clothes during gym, the money will disappear out of the locked basket and you will also lose your pants.  This will make you furious and you will be embarrassed for having to wear the white boxer underwear looking gym shorts that the state regulated that you wear. 

In the gym itself, if you are a minority, make yourself as invisible as possible.  Group with others like yourself.  If you play a lot of sports disregard the next few comments as you were a category unto yourself.  The people you hang out with in gym help as much as they can, but can only do so much.  Inside games you are expected to be a goal or target for large spherical objects to be hurled at you at an amazing speed.  Yes, it hurts and injures.  Try to get duty in the office or library, it will help.  A doctor's note for dressing out will also help.  You will find though that you usually are forced to dress out at the first of the class by a coach who you never see on this side of his glass, walled office.  Outside gym class is also something to watch out for.  You do have more space to distance yourself from fights and run by hitting.  However, you will be required to play sports where you are given the ball and immediately tackled for the pleasure of others.  While down you will experience other pain as well, ie. biting, punching, kicking.  Stay calm...It only lasts two years.

Make sure you stay away from bleachers and stairs as much as possible.  There will be a wrestling show where the wrestlers propel themselves in the air and come down on their opponents head with their elbow.  This will make you dizzy and make it hard to focus.  You will get beat up, you will get in fights and you will think that you are dying and the world will end for you soon.  Keep the faith of tomorrow.  Things do get better. Trust your family, they will be stronger than you think and will help strengthen you and guide you in a better direction. 

Also, The little guy who stared at you in gym when you tried to talk to him... he is just gauging who you are.  The both of you will share an amazing journey there and at church and in life.  He's your best friend and the one thing worth taking out of that time.  He is a constant in your life.  You share a lot of humor, a lot of grief, and a lot of occasional disagreements, but he has always been there.  Treat him nice, learn from him.  He's a nerd, but hey, you're a geek so that's a good start.  He will do well in school with his smarts and you will ride on the outskirts of education with your charm and common sense.  He got the better end of the deal.  Enjoy his jokes, they help your comedic timing as well.  Please just hang in there and trust that God will lead you through it.

~curtain~

Growing Old.

I have been dealing with growing older for the first time in my life.  Not wiser mind you, just older.  I am now at the age where people turn to me for advice and I find myself worried about things I say. 

I think in a way we become younger in our growing older.  It is a time of "Firsts" again.  We are like a toddler exploring a new land and frontier and no one speaks our language.  Hair grows in new places, joints and muscles don’t move the way we expect.  Our sight and hearing are diminishing and our memories , well, they are vivid, yet not always accurate as they were in years past.

We finally get the bravery to try new things only to realize our bodies won't allow the physicality to complete our new found courage.  I have grown old.  Not because my body is giving up, but because I have.  I have forgotten how to look at things like they are new.  I dwell on the negative aspects of this season of life. 

    One of the reasons for this negativity is the loss of lifetime friends and other friends going on to meet their maker.  These were risk takers and adventurers' to me.  Now when I get an ache or pain I worry…is this my last day, is this the pain that takes me down?  Later I will burp or cough and it goes away and I laugh at my silliness but still hang on to the fear.    That is the key word now, my friends death have taught me to fear.  I have been fearless for years and believed myself invulnerable to  growing old.  I was Peter Pan.  I want to be fearless again.  I want to believe in making the impossible improvable, but not impossible.  I am still an optimist in so many ways, but not like I was.  I teach young children starting their lives, I live for their energy and enthusiasm.  It gives me strength.  In them I hear the voice of God that used to speak to me directly.  I do not ignore God or his talking to me I am not sure I listen as closely. 

Each week brings a renewal of work where I push to reboot my optimism.  I pray and ask God for help.  I am never unhappy with his answer, though I am in conflict with my thought.  Part of me lives in this depression and another part of me lives in this hope.  I bounce from one to the other like a toy ball slammed into the concrete.  I rise to new heights but come crashing down within minutes only to pick myself up again and rise even higher.  The lows scrape me and beat me up and try to keep me down.  The highs sing with all the glory of looking to the future and pushing away  the clouds.  I reach for the sunshine, I reach for family, I reach for friends…I have become needy.  I want to be more than my existence.  Yet some days I feel like all I am doing is existing.  Where is my wonder, my creativity, my adventurer, my lust and love for life?  Is it buried in a depression or just shuffled aside while I remake who I am?  Change, a necessary thing in our lives...just wish I had more control over it.

~Curtain~