Math is a difficult field of study. Most Americans fail to comprehend anything beyond multiplication and division. Algebra is a foreign language and calculus terra incognita. If it weren’t for calculators most people in the world couldn’t count numbers higher than their fingers and even taking off their shoes wouldn’t put them much further than 16.
For some strange reason I was good at math. The archdiocese of Boston awarded me a scholarship to Xaverian Brothers High School based on my test scores. Neither my teachers nor parents would accept my explanation that my excellence was due to an extraordinary ability to guess the right answers in multiple choice examinations instead of an innate gift for math.
No remedial algebra for my freshman year. I was in the advanced classes. My grades hovered around B without ever attaining the promise of my elders’ expectations. They considered me an ‘under-achiever. I strived to prove them wrong without success and went so far to choose math as my major in college.
Big mistake for nothing erases math skills faster than marijuana and I was dealing pot to pay for my tuition. My nights were spent behind the wheel of a taxi to afford my apartment. 9am Calculus classes were missed with regularity, however I scored well on my final and proceeded into sophomore year to study Linear Algebra under Rene Marcus. His mind could calculate missile trajectories without a slide ruler.
In 1971 no one had a calculator.
They wouldn’t have helped me, since I wasn’t going to classes. At the midterm I scored a 15 in the test and Rene Marcus suggested I withdraw from the course. I accepted his advice and dealt with my parents’ disappointment. They thought their second son was going to work for NASA.
1972 was the end of my math career and I haven’t opened a math book since then, although I have learned that western man didn’t come up with the concept of zero until well into the Second Millennium, while the Mayans always had zero or Pohp for their 20-based numeral system.
And I don’t have to use my fingers for long math, but if you think you’re smart just remember the words of Phil Pastoret.
“If you think dogs can’t count, try putting three dog biscuits in your pocket and then giving Fido only two of them.”
Arf Arf Arf equals three.