So it looks like I get the joy of writing another end-of-the-week post–and I know on a Thursday, the last thing you want to hear is some NASEEHAT — patronizing advice– so I’ll make this as painless as possible.
Math was always my Dad’s thing. Math and Soccer.
and since I didn’t turn out to be some Brandi Chastain or Mia Hamm, my Dad really tried to amp up my Math skills. He would buy me the next year’s textbook for me to prep over the summer. He tried to push me to “proof” my geometry when I was in 5th grade. Basically, he made himself available in anyway when it came to ARITHMETIC, but I dreaded every single tutoring session with him, because it either ended in tears or some sort of fight.
My dad had a low tolerance for stupid mistakes, and he made it pretty clear that most mistakes were stupid.
I would beg my Mom to help me on my Math homework before my Dad got home. but somehow I always ended up on the couch, in misery as my Dad demanded I do my homework, the extra credit, and assigned me more problems that he would grade.
So by the time I left High School, I was ready to kiss MATH goodbye!
When I was picking a major in College, my dad wanted me to do Engineering, Math, Stats… you catch my drift… and I was quite content doing anything but. He threatened to not fund my education, so we met halfway…
Long story short, that didn’t quite work out later on (and my dad won’t ever let me forget it). But I did end up taking a whole sequence of Math classes, Stats, and some other sh!t with numbers. Now that I look back, I am so f#cking glad I did.