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  • Writer's pictureCatherine

Math Memories

Updated: Sep 28, 2020

Throughout middle school and high school, there was always one constant: I hated math classes. Like, really loathed them. I had a massive amount of trouble understanding concepts and applying them to homework and tests. Despite the efforts of quite a few tutors over the years, my grades were never strong, and I couldn’t wait to get to college where I’d never have to take another math class ever again.


Often, in the absence of a tutor, my dad would sit down with me at our round kitchen table after dinner and attempt to help me with my homework. He was fully qualified: in France, he’d obtained the equivalent of a bachelor’s degree from the École Nationale Supérieure des Arts et Métiers engineering school at its Paris and Cluny campuses. He was then awarded a Fulbright scholarship to complete a one-year engineering master’s degree at Caltech which was followed by a long and prestigious career.


He took my homework very seriously, often getting out his calculator, ruler, protractor, compass, and any other implements he thought might be of use (even when it was just algebra). There were times I thought I understood what was going on, but most of the time I just didn’t get it, despite his herculean efforts to explain things to me. There were often tears, and I was angry with Dad when concepts were particularly difficult, as if it was his fault I didn’t understand my homework.


When I graduated high school, I think both Dad and I were relieved it was over.


And then it wasn’t.


After working at The Huntington Library for a few years, I decided I wanted to get a master’s degree in library science. Obtaining this required graduate school which required the GRE. Which required math. A cursory glance at practice tests left me in a cold sweat. Math was back to haunt me again.


There was only one person I knew who might be able to help. So, during a series of lovely spring days, Dad came over to my apartment where we sat outside at a table on the patio and reviewed GRE math together. But this time the experience was completely different. Perhaps I had grown up a little or perhaps it was the knowledge that this math was for a desired goal that I had chosen. Dad and I had a great time. We laughed and joked around, and I found that I was marveling at my Dad’s talent, his vast knowledge, and his advanced skills. I suddenly had a new respect for him and unexpected confidence in myself. When I received my GRE scores, I was shocked to discover that I received a high score on the math portion.


The irony is, in my current job where I manage over 90 different accounts in the Research Division at The Huntington Library, I use more math than I ever have in my whole life. I keep a large pad of scratch paper and a pencil near me at all times, just like Dad taught me. He pops into my head when I’m working the numbers, and I chuckle when I think about the agony of those homework sessions of my youth. I’m glad I got the chance to respect his brilliant mind and the help he provided.


I don’t have a photo of him helping me with homework (you really don’t want to see that), but here he is studying at Caltech while getting his engineering master’s degree.


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