Mama PhD

Since moving to one of the most expensive housing markets in North America eight years ago, we’ve had to learn...

As most readers of IHE probably already know, there’s been a little bit of a controversy over the past few days about a “study” purporting to find that the job of university of professor is the least stressful job in America. Scott Jaschik usefully summarizes the original study (by Career Cast), the piece in Forbes that seems to have drawn the most ire, and the various responses—and, of course, his piece has generated even more responses in the form of comments on his article. I’m struck, as always, by the widespread misconceptions about what it is, exactly, that university professors do—even, apparently, among readers of IHE.

Our family spent the week between Christmas and New Year's traveling, as we try to do every year. This is partly because, since my mother died, we have no family nearby, and so have no fixed celebration ritual, and partly because it is cheaper to travel when no one else wants to.

When I was in grammar school, I used to say that I wanted to grow up to be an archeologist. Having not yet discovered Economics, I could not think of any other way to combine my love of social studies, math and science all at once. Had I pursued that line of study, I hope that I would have had some intelligent things to say about the idea that the Mayan calendar predicted the end of the world on December 21, as did others. Since that day has come and gone, I think it is safe to say that any predictions based on those calendars foretelling the end of the world as we know it were incorrect. Now that we know that the world is not ending quite yet, I want to share some thoughts on what we did not lose on December 21, 2012, as the New Year unfolds.

When I teach Calculus, I often begin by comparing the difference between Calculus and Discrete Math to the difference between the individual frames of an old-fashioned movie tape and the movie when shown on a projector. I tell them that, while algebra and all of discrete math looks at individual situations, or “frames”, Calculus can study a world of continuous motion. This analogy has been on my mind lately as I find myself recalling scenes from past holidays with my daughter. Individually interesting, they run together into a “movie” of emotions that grabs me at this time of the year.

As I write at my computer, my nine-year-old daughter is on Skype with a friend who lives on the other side of the country. Together, they are working on a web page that showcases their passion for hamsters. She figured out how to construct her webpage using the documentation on Google Sites. She’s a pro at finding info using Wikipedia, she loves searching for images using Google, she’s even put together some crude computer animations.

I spent the weekend thinking about Christmas cards, and Christmas presents. Not the ones that I have not yet bought, or sent, but ones that were postmarked Newtown last week, or purchased in Danbury a week or two ago, already wrapped and ready to be put under a Christmas tree. Cards with pictures of children on them, children who will not see the Christmas the cards celebrate; children who will not open the gifts purchased for them. I cannot think about these gifts, these cards. I cannot imagine the grief of the families.

When The Dark Knight Rises came out, an improv classmate mentioned having heard that Christian Bale's costume was so elaborate he had to be sealed into it at the beginning of each filming day, necessitating a catheter until the costume was removed. "That's why I'm sticking with improv," another classmate observed. "I'm Batman because I say I am." I was reminded of this exchange the other evening, when a friend and I amused ourselves while waiting for a performance to begin by compiling a list of reasons we prefer improv to "legitimate" theater: