I saw a T-shirt
the other day. It said, “Dear Math, I am not a therapist. Solve your own
problems”. That sentiment accurately sums up my feelings about math in general.
I have never been
a fan of math. I am a lover of words, of the creative and artistic venue of
writing. While some may argue that you can be creative and artistic with
numbers, I really don’t care to hear the argument.
Personally,
I don’t see a need in my life for anything past basic math skills. I will never
use algebra to balance my checkbook when simple addition, subtraction,
multiplication and division will suffice. I don’t understand why it’s necessary
for me to have to solve equations like “x+3-1=11” only to find that it would be
just as easy to say 9+2=11. Seriously. Why all the cloak and dagger?
Then
there are fractions. OK, I concede that I use fractions in my daily life. I use
half-cups and quarter-cups when baking scrumptious cookies or cakes. These
fractions are useful to me. Anything
above and beyond that … not so much. I don’t see why the capability to divide
or multiply complex fractions is necessary in my life. Why make things harder
than they really need to be?
My
biggest peeve, however, are the word problems. Word problems are seductive. They
offer a problem in such a way that entices me to pay attention. They offer a
plot and a reason to be invested in the problem. Just to illustrate what I
mean, here is a perfect example:
Billy has five shiny, red apples. Billy goes to
a party and sees two pretty girls. One has blonde hair. One has brown hair. He
gives half of his apples to the pretty blonde-haired girl. He then gives half
of what he has left to the pretty brown-haired girl. How many apples does Billy
have left?
I was with Billy
right up until I needed to figure out how many apples he had left. It’s not
that I can’t figure out how many apples he now has. It’s because I don’t care!
As I said, I am a
lover of words. I am more interested in whether or not Billy had a thing for
either of the girls, or in knowing if either little girl had a crush on Billy,
too. Or in discovering if the little brown-haired girl was ticked when she
found out that the little blonde-haired girl got more of Billy’s apples than
she did. Did a cat-fight ensue? Did either girl ever give Billy their number or
did he impart of his apples in vain?
For these very
reasons, word problems are the cruelest joke math teachers can play on a
creative mind. I do not see these words in lines of logic. I do not read them
in a linear manner. My writer’s brain is trained to “read between the lines”,
to see the drama that is not at first apparent. I feel the uncertainty and
angst Billy is feeling when he approaches each little girl. I perceive his
concern that his gift, and therefore he, may be rejected. I am invested in how
the story will unfold. And then, SMACK! I’m expected to draw a solid conclusion
based on the facts given. I am doomed to never know the answers to my many
questions. So cruel!
It’s dreadful
that my precious and beloved letters are re-purposed as “variables” in the math
world. However offensive this may be to me, I can accept this as a necessary thing.
Word problems, though, are nothing short of a travesty, an unforgivable affront to the literary-minded. Therefore, it is my firm opinion that word
problems should be buried, sequestered deep in the recesses of abandoned quarries,
like the bones of the plague-riddled dead in the catacombs of France and Italy.
They should be laid to rest and never disturbed again.
This may seem
harsh to all the math lovers out there. I do not begrudge you your love of
numbers. Have at it, by all means. But, please, the next time a person like me
says they “hate math” or that they “do not ‘get’ math”, remember what you have
just read. Have some sympathy for the “un-math-letic” masses, for we are many.
Oh, and keep your word problems to yourself.
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