But...
The ever present " But"...
I think most of that was/ is just my personality.
I do stupid things and sometimes think stupid thoughts.
Most sensible people hear crazy stories and the first thought in their brains is " How could someone DO that?!?"..
Me, I hear a story of someone walking away from an extremely risky choice that would make an amazing story, if survived, and I think " How could you NOT?!?"...
Being old, or nearly old ( for a little while longer) , I still think that way, but just don't voice or act on it, anymore...
So I don't see it as lack of intelligence, just sanity...
Although I spent less than 1/3 of a semester in college, I am able to walk thru most any industrial plant, look at a machine or any part of a machine, and almost always be able to explain how it works.
Mechanical or electrical, pneumatic or hydraulic, most days I am reasonably spot on, in my guesstimations...
Here comes the other " but".
My six grader, asked me for help with his homework. A lump of fear formed in my throat as I replied " Sure, if I can help".
As I walked around the kitchen island, I questioned him on the subject.
Algebra, he said...
Algebra. Of course.
Of course...
My mother was driving us home from Saratoga one afternoon and had a stack of mail between us, in her station wagon. I had failed the algebra class and was awaiting my grade from the second Regents test, that could possibly pass me on to the next grade without repeating this one. I did not do well on the first regents test. My mother considered that an understatement, when she opened the first envelope in our home and it simply stated the grade as "14".
" How can you possibly get a 14 on a multiple choice test?" she screamed.
" Good question", I replied.
She then started yelling about smart ass remarks and no wonder I got a 14 on a test, with an attitude like that...
For a large portion of the rest of the day, she followed her usual routines, shaking her head every fifteen or twenty minutes and mumbling to herself the number " 14"...
I was sat down at our kitchen table, which ironically is in the exact same place as our kitchen island, in the exact same room and exact same house...
And forced, hours on end, to study this " algebra" thing.
My father even tried to teach me, bless his blood pressure and soul...
The problem with that is I always asked him questions beyond it, and he would find himself an hour and a half later explaining geometry and calculus problems that I could do easily..
He would then yell in Polish,and jump up from the table, frustrated and angry that I could understand higher concepts but was totally clueless and inept in something so simple..
They were relentless. I WOULD pass. I would pass...
I spent months at that table...
So as we were riding that day, I found the regents envelope that held my grade. " Open it", she said.
So I did. Both older brothers were in the back seat, interest piqued...
I silently read my grade. My mother looked over sideways, while threading her vehicle thru the noon Saratoga traffic. Confidently, she smiled and gently asked " Well?"
Eight, I said...
EIGHT?!?
She screamed! She was looking straight at me while driving thirty miles an hour, in crazy traffic...
EIGHT?!?
How the hell could you get an eight? It's impossible!
The test is multiple choice! The worst you can possibly get is 25!
How the HELL did you get an EIGHT?!?
I never did learn algebra. General math was as far as I went....
Thirty seven years later, I still don't get it.
I informed my eleven year old son, rather sheepishly, that I had absolutely no clue and would be absolutely no help to him.
I don't think he really believed it...
Frustrated, he asked who could help him.
I didn't suggest grandpa...
P.S.
He figured it out for himself, without his moms help or mine...
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