So here's the plan. Gather 'round everyone. Stand in a circle so their quarterback won't read our signals...
I tell the college that I am disabled somehow. Probably deaf as the fact that I drove there to sign up for classes yesterday was a dead giveaway that I can see.
So, I tell them that I am deaf and thus need to bring a translator with me to my one class that I am taking on campus: Algebra.
I then bring my son to every class with me.
My son that gets straight A's in everything.
Especially math.
The benefits will be twofold: I won't have to answer any questions in class because I will be sure to lay the gutteral utterances on especially thick, and I will have a human powered calculator sitting next to me who will not only be able to answer my questions RIGHT NOW but who will also be able to load up the blow gun and shoot me in the jugular with curare if I get too out of hand.
So, if you think this is a good idea, make sure to start talking to me in a most animated way, gesture a lot, and play it reeeeaaaaaallll cool.
I'm thinking I'd better brush up on my sign language though. The only communication I know how to do with my hands involves the middle finger and I'm thinking I shouldn't flash that on the first night of class.
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4 comments:
You know, I'm an ex-hippie, so I say "Go for it!!"
I am also compelled to point out that, because I played football, I know that it is not the quarterback who steals signals, it is someone on the defense. In my case, it was me, a defensive lineman who learned to read lips.
Also, I must gently point out that this brilliant son of yours (and I have no doubt that he is brilliant) got that from *somewhere,* and I greatly suspect that was you!! Your writings shows great skill.
Is it possible that you picked up a math phobia at some time, and it has kept you stuck, unable to reach your math potential?
Obviously I don't know, but I have a pretty good hunch. I'm just saying . . .
My math phobias started in the fourth grade with long division. Would you believe I remember the exact day when all my hopes and dreams came crashing down around my ears and I realized there was something that I ABSOLUTELY DIDN'T GET.
I sort of stumbled along through fourth grade and then when fifth grade hit, my teacher would call the kids that didn't get it "stupid". "What ARE you??? STUPID????" I still burn with humiliation when I think about it.
Sixth grade was another teacher that had no patience for people that didn't understand. No, I was not trying to be a smart ass and slow the class down, I honestly just didn't get it!
Seventh grade was my BEST math teacher. He had long hair and had hell raiser written all over him. He used to tell us how hard math was for him but he DIDN'T GIVE UP!
Eighth grade? That was geometry. I could actually lay my hands on those triangles and VISUALIZE it. It made more sense than the babbling morlocks that tried to teach me without using pretty shapes.
Ninth grade? That was the math teacher who was a total pervert. He would stand at the door and compliment all the girls in tight sweaters in a very oily disgusting voice. He complimented a sweater of mine one day and I went home and burned it. He also had one long piece of hair that went across his almost bald head and he would oil it up and plaster it to his head. Now whenever I see someone with that particular fashion statement, I drop to my knees and begin to rock autistically cuz those integers are gonna SUFFOCATE ME IN MY SLEEP!
The funniest thing is that I managed to get a physics tutor to teach me physics so I could get into a certain college and I absolutely LOVE physics.
Why? Because it's math that has a purpose! I can visualize the reason why I'm trying to calculate a string of numbers.
It is the glue that holds the universe together...
It is where math and poetry meet.
Yes...I do love me some poetry...and essays and novels and literature and words and words and words.
All other parts of my brain are withered and blackened.
I always liked math. Physics my senior year was one of my favorite classes. We had a teacher right out of college, we did a lot of hands on experiments. Some didn't go as well as planned but we had fun. At my 20 year reunion planning meetings I found out that he had called a number of the girls in my class and asked them out on dates.
I think your perv 9th grade teacher was our 7th grade history teacher. He would always drop pens next to the desk of pretty girls and ask them to pick them up (for look down their shirts). I sat next to Sandy and Kathy so whenever he would drop one I'd be over eager to pick it up and you could tell he was pissed.
Ouch!
I dunno if you looked at my blog, but physics has always been a passion of mine. That is why I took the trip to Switzerland. Speaking of that, if I had your talent I could make my entry into Montreal on the return trip very funny because apparently I looked suspicious - man traveling alone, not on business, going to Switzerland to see a particle accelerator?!
I almost missed my connecting flight, and I think I almost got the probe, if you know what I mean, and I know that you do.
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