Chapter 14 Please Excuse Mom’s Disrespectful Aggressive Speech
Chapter 14
Please Excuse Mom’s Disrespectful Aggressive Speech.
I came home from school, showered, and changed into a fresh dress.
I wondered if the genius PhD in charge of the elementary school would recognize me dressed in something other than biking gear.
Actually, I wasn’t dressing to impress her. Robert had refused to accompany me if I wore my biking clothes.
We had an appointment with the principal. The same principal I’d yelled at the week before when she’d released the elementary school children fifteen minutes early without notifying their parents.
But that wasn’t why we were there.
We were there because my son’s math teacher didn’t understand the order of operations.
My son was good at math. He was good at science, too, and he understood rules. Unfortunately, his math grades were suffering because his teacher was teaching those rules incorrectly.
PEMDAS. Parentheses, Exponents, Multiplication, Division, Addition, Subtraction.
The problem was that Mr. Rhubarbseed treated that list as a strict sequence. Multiplication always before division. Addition always before subtraction.
I’m not getting paid to teach math here, so we’ll just leave it at that.
The principal began our meeting by apologizing for releasing the children early the previous week. Then she added that she still didn’t see the harm in it.
“Well, I hope you see the potential harm in it now.”
“Let’s call it a difference of opinion,” she said.
“I can call it that. Do you intend on releasing them early again next week without announcing it?”
“Ummm … Lee Ann,” Robert interrupted. “That’s not what we’re here for.”
He was trying to quiet me.
Enter Mr. Rhubarbseed.
“I understand you think your son is better in math than I do.”
“I was better in math than you were when I was seven.”
“Lee Ann.”
That came from Robert.
“It’s a common mistake; a lot of people don’t understand how PEMDAS works,” Mr.
Rhubarbseed said.
“Really?” I questioned.
He then began a lecture on the order of operations.
When he was finished, I pulled out a calculator. I explained that this particular calculator knew the order of operations. It was not a typical four-function calculator.
I wrote down a problem and demonstrated how it came up with the correct answer.
“No, it didn’t, and that’s what I was saying! See, it didn’t do A before S.”
“That was the point of my example problem. A and S are interchangeable according to where they lie. So are M and D.”
“No, then there wouldn’t be an order to it. Those calculators are wrong, and you can’t use them.”
“Go get your teacher’s edition. We’ll pick a problem. I promise you, the way I work it and the answer this calculator gets will match your teacher’s edition.”
“You can’t take that as proof,” he said, a touch loudly. “Those answer keys are wrong a lot of the time.”
“ROBERT!” I appealed. “Tell him!”
I don’t know what I was expecting. Robert looked like a lost ball in high weeds.
“You’re doing fine.”
I was getting nowhere with the teacher, so I appealed to the PhD in the room.
“Can you please at least ask him to get the teacher’s edition? Make him listen to reason if the calculator works?”
“I have to stand behind my teachers,” she said.
The whole visit might have gone better. Things may have been different that evening.
If I just hadn’t said:
“Don’t step forward. You’ll step in a pile of shit.”
She called the MPs.
Right there in front of us.
And less than five minutes later, I would be escorted out by them.
Mr. Rhubarbseed was granted permission to leave.
Robert stood up to leave.
The traitor.
I wasn’t going anywhere until the MPs arrived.
“It’s time to go,” Robert said.
He looked at me with begging eyes. He knew my Alabama temper.
“I’m waiting for the MPs.”
I was conducting a sit-in, apparently alone.
“Don’t do this, please.”
“They are being ridiculous. A whole generation of children growing up not knowing basic math because one principal can’t be open-minded enough to smell what’s in front of her.”
Robert stepped back toward the door.
I continued my rant. It was much quieter and only a few swear words, but I saw the change in her eyes when I said, “I got a four-year degree in mathematics to be shot down by an English major!” It was just a twitch. It didn’t change the outcome.
Well, the school was located directly across from the MP station and immediately behind the gate to Fort Clayton.
I briefly wondered which guy it would be.
I lucked out.
He drew the Short Straw again.
Two MPs arrived. I recognized the red hair.
I stood up.
“Are you going to arrest me?”
Short Straw looked nervously toward the principal.
“Just make sure she knows not to come back today,” she told him.
Short Straw took me by the elbow and escorted me out.
His partner didn’t touch Robert. they simply walked ahead of us.
Apparently, an MP wasn’t going to lay hands on a warrant officer.
Or maybe I was the only one who’d done something wrong.
Of course, Robert hadn’t. He didn’t know anything about math.
I was still mad enough to be proud of my mouth. I cussed a blue streak all the way out.
“Not here, ma’am,” Short Straw kept saying.
Ma’am? Do I look old enough to be a ma’am?
The ma’am didn’t help a bit.
Short Straw was uncharacteristically not on my side. I suspected Robert’s rank had something to do with it.
He finally warned me that if I didn’t stop swearing, I’d have to ride home in the MP car instead of going with Robert.
I couldn’t quite figure out how that was supposed to be a deterrent.
Explaining to Patrick what happened wasn’t too difficult.
“Mom, do I get to keep doing math the right way?”
“Patrick, you do it the way I taught you. Your grades will be bad, but I’ll buy you a Hot Wheels for every grade below passing.”
“Great!”
Kids are easy. It’s adults I don’t get.