7x8: Late Love

Growing up, my family had it kind of rough and we weren’t the best at sentimentality. The best I could do with my mom was try to talk to her about any and everything to feel closer to her. The more I learned about her the closer I felt to her.

My dad, on the other hand, was my roll dog, despite me being so guarded. He married my mom when I was five and treated my other siblings and I like his own. He was my defender, my teacher and sometimes my friend and I know I took him for granted until it was too late. But that’s the story of loss, isn’t it? Always something to regret.

One of my favorite memories that I have with my dad is from when I was about 6 or 7. Now my whole life I’ve hated math because I genuinely suck at it. I’m the english baby. The reader, the writer, the comprehensive literature analyst. I was learning my multiplication tables and division and I hated every minute of it because I couldn’t understand it. It was frustrating. And I was homeschooled at home so my tutors were my parents and the homeschooling books they bought. My classmates were my younger siblings and I was a truly restless child because of it.

One day I was sitting and struggling with my tables per usual and my dad decided to come and help me. He was a genius at math, but his life of opportunity for life had been cut short when he was 18 so he was just my genius. He saw me giving up and came down to sit by me as I sighed in frustration.

“What’s the problem?”

“Seven times eight,” I said in exasperation. I was mad that I couldn’t seem to do the equation the way it was described in the book. I didn’t get what they wanted me to do and whenever I tried to do it the way the book said to, I would get it wrong.

“Well, bug, I think you’re looking at it as if it’s something new. Everything you do is a repetition of what you already know. You know how to add, right?”

I scoff. “Of course I do.”

“Then you can do multiplication. It’s just addition with fewer steps. So try it like this. Add eight to itself seven times, then tell me what you got.”

I look at him, wondering what it is he’s trying to prove and he nods as if to say, “go ahead, try it.” So I look down at my paper and start to add eight to itself seven times, just like I had been told. Once I finished using the addition I already knew, dad looked at me and smiled, pointing at my answer.

“Your route was longer but you just solved seven times eight,” he said.

I was confused. “But, it wasn’t multiplication and it took longer.”

He conceded, nodding. “That’s true, but that’s not what I want you to see. Despite the fact that you didn’t know how to do the equation, you were still able to find the answer, even if it was in a way you wouldn’t have thought of.”

“So?” I still didn’t get it.

“So,” he said patiently, “You have to try to think outside of the box sometimes to find your solutions even if you don’t always understand the equation. Once you understand one way of doing it, you can apply what you learned from that to what the book is trying to teach you.”

I stared blankly. “Okay…”

He chuckled. “Okay, just- next time you get frustrated try to find another way around the solution first. And ask for help if you really feel like you can’t figure it out. Don’t just get mad and give up bud.”

With that last word of encouragement, my dad gave me a quick little side hug and got up to go back to whatever it was that he had been doing. He made me feel like I could do it if I just tried so I went back in and completed the rest of my times tables with what he had shown me. I smiled and ran to show him, proud of myself for not giving up. After that it became easier for me to do multiplication, but I did continue to struggle with math because it is the bane of my existence, the root of all evil, and the subject that always laughed in my face. I did develop a grudging respect for it, though.

Despite my natural hatred for math, there is a bit of appreciation I have for it because of my dad. He taught me patience and perseverance that day and I’ve used that lesson in my life ever since. I cherish this memory because of the fact that I didn’t have a lot of vulnerable moments with him. We weren’t given that luxury. It’s been the only thing I could hold onto from the times I had with him that weren’t tinged in the struggles we faced as a family. I’ll forever be grateful to him for the part he took in my life. He wasn’t perfect but he was the only father I knew. For him, I will always ne grateful.