The sum of the sons...

I never was into math — and I've always disliked equations. I remember the "powers that were" back in my high school days. My parents, teachers, and even boyfriends used to say that math wasn't my strong suit. It wasn't my subject. True enough, but not because of aptitude — because of interest, or lack thereof. I just wasn't that interested in numbers. I'm still not, even though I’m actually quite gifted in math. I will say that numbers certainly intrigue me more now, than back in the days of high school algebra — as a means of communication, not computation. I remember one class primarily because the teacher was gorgeous. He held some type of barefoot water skiing record. I think he was the driver of the boat...not the foot skimmer. Even back then, I remember thinking that his personal life was at "odds" with his profession. Square hole, round peg.

Wow. I haven't thought about high school algebra in two decades. So why now? Don't worry, I'm not about to attempt any "you've got to be kidding," record-setting high jinx. Math is on my mind because I came across an equation that actually interests me. It's derived from something our eldest son said recently. As our family drove off to dinner in his car, a big SUV unexpectedly swerved over into our lane. Christopher, our chauffeur for the night, compensated by scooting over (just a bit) into another lane. Oops. The man next to us (and a good car length behind us) was using his cell phone and unaware of our situation. He gave his horn a long, loud blast to let us know we were out of line, which, of course, we were. Immediately, Chris muttered, "horn works buddy, try the lights," and then he started to laugh. His younger brother, who was along for the ride, chimed in with, "That lady in the Escalade must be blind in one eye, and can't see out of the other. Then we all laughed. Hmmmmm? Where did they learn these "pearls" of wisdom? And what do they have to do with math? Easy. I present to you an equation that directly applies to life. My life. The sum of the sons equals the father.

There are many physical attributes of the boys that remind me of their dad; the line of the brow, or the set of the jaw. Then there's the hair, or the way they sit and smoosh down the back cushions of the sofa...any sofa. These are constant reminders of their father's DNA. But without the mannerisms and the quirky little sayings that my husband learned during his formative years — and has duly passed down to his sons — the formula is incomplete. While not all of these phrases are politically correct in today's society, they speak to my husband's calm (mostly) commentary on life. Christopher could have been angry by the toot of the horn, warranted or unwarranted — and upset with the driver of the big black Escalade that nearly sideswiped us. Yet the horn blast provided a welcome relief from a rather tense moment. We all knew a blast was coming from somewhere...better this than the alternative. Then there was the laughter. And why not? No one was hurt. Who knows why the Escalade came into our lane. It doesn't really matter, does it? Our good "buddy" that sat on his horn gave us a pretty nasty glare as he eventually sped past. All he saw through his squinty glare was a family laughing together. Not at him...and no one flipped him the bird, or called him names. Not that he would have noticed, as he was still on the phone while going 60-per on a busy street. Me? I was proud that Christopher took "the high road."

Our father/son formula intrigues me both in its simplicity and complexity: It's easy to do the math, but not so easy to apply correctly. You see, the boys could have just memorized the words — and the phrases — of their father. Thankfully, they did the math. They learned how to compute the equation and then apply the formula to their lives correctly. Cooly. Calmly.

I wish everyone had a "calm, cool and collected" formula. Recently, I've encountered a lot of angry people. Not at me...just angry in general. On the road, in the grocery store, at the gym. In restaurants, at the coffee house, in the bank and in the drug store. Employees, patrons, everyday ordinary people. Impatient is another word that comes to mind. Angry and impatient. I’m not about to analyze the cause of their angst...because then I might get angry. And that's not my suitcase. I will, however, share an experience.

As I stood in line at the bank recently (yes, I still bank inside the building), I started to tense up as I heard the woman behind me in line sigh (and sigh, and sigh, and sigh), as our wait was prolonged by a customer with several transactions. As each sigh got louder and more emphatic I could actually feel her breath on my neck. I repeatedly tried to inch away from her. True enough, it was a long wait, and we could have done with another teller — but it was what it was. Maybe someone called in sick, or had to leave for an emergency. It didn't really matter, because the end result was that if you wanted to bank inside the building, at that particular time, you had to wait. I chose to wait. The woman behind me chose to spittle on my neck. Yes, I said spittle. With each new (and louder) sigh came a little something extra that still gives me the willies. When I could not inch any further, I turned to her and politely asked if she was okay. Woof! She glared at me as if I were personally responsible for the long wait and then "honked" at me. A big long blast that even caused the security guard to glance our way. She said, "Unlike some people [and I assume she meant me], I have better things to do than wait in line all day." Now I could have taken offense and told her that I had two deadlines to complete by days end, and that I had to meet my husband in twenty minutes at our CPA's office, and that I still had no idea what we would have for dinner that evening — and, by the way, I already missed breakfast and lunch. No, I didn't share my issues and get into a "spittle" contest with her. What I said was, "Horn works lady, try the lights." Then I started to laugh. Guess what? She looked at me for a moment and then she started to laugh. As she meekly attempted to explain her bad day, I interrupted her and said, "No worries. Why don't you go ahead of me?" She declined (as she should have) and waited patiently behind me for the next five minutes, keeping all sighs and spittle to herself, thank goodness.

Back to the family. I was concerned that Christopher might be bothered that I wrote about him so specifically. I read him this article and asked him if he minded. His response? "That and a dime will get you a cup of coffee." Roughly translated (and allowing for about three-bucks of inflation) I believe he meant "What do I care?" My point exactly. Don't sweat the small stuff. I even took it a step further. I clarified my translation. I asked Christopher once more if he was sure he didn't mind. He looked at me and smiled. Then he said, "What's wrong, are you deaf in one ear and can't hear out of the other?" Yes, definitely a chip off the old block — which equals no chip on the shoulder. I think this sums up today's "math" lesson rather nicely. Class dismissed.

Dedicated to all of us. The next time we get angry, or impatient, let's not "blow" our horns. Unless, of course, we are in true danger.

Disclaimer: Please, don't take offense at the politically incorrect "blind out of one eye," or "deaf out of one ear" comments, unless, of course, you are. If this is the case, I sincerely apologize for the insensitivity of whomever taught this to my husband , who in turn taught this to our boys, who will I am sure teach it to their children, and so on and so forth.

© 2006 Teresa G. Franta