Mama PhD

As I have described here before, a life-threatening illness and scary diagnosis several years ago transformed my relationships with myself, my loved ones, and my work in a number of ways. One of the resolutions I made during that horrible time was that, if I survived, I would never again refrain from pursuing a goal or passion simply from fear.

Although less common than in the past, I sometimes still run into students who are convinced they cannot learn math. Some of these students are women old enough to be my mother, who grew up in the days when it was assumed that math was for men and not for women. I recall one woman sitting in my office almost in tears, telling me that she had never been able to do math. I pointed out that she had six children, including a specials need son, and told her that any woman who could raise six children most definitely knew how to do math. I do know, however, that my own image of myself as a non-athlete is similar to her view of herself as not mathematical, and have to conclude that our perceptions of our skills in such subjects are in many ways dependent on the time in which we grew up. I was lucky enough to have a teacher in second grade that saw that I was good in math, but never lucky enough to have a mentor who encouraged me to be athletic. My daughter is lucky to have people who do.

This past Sunday we went out for breakfast and found our favorite local diner crowded with after-church families. In Green Bay, WI the number of patrons reflects the times of church services and football games. If you don’t attend either, you feel out of step with a powerful community rhythm.

I passed another milestone of middle age last week: new eyeglasses with progressive lenses. And, as everyone told me, it’s taking me some time to adjust. So I’m feeling a little off-kilter as I begin the week.

The reactions to this article, which has been circulating the Internet, seem to fall into three general clusters.

I was just finishing a proof we would be discussing in my Calculus III class this past Tuesday when I heard the bagpipes.

My “gap” semester son, Nick, turned 19 on Monday. He is working and living with his Dad this fall, while waiting to start college in the spring. Nick and I spent some nice time together last weekend — going on a shopping spree and discussing our narrative obsession with the AMC series, Breaking Bad.

So we've made it through the first two weeks of my semester, and the first week of Nick's. And what have I learned so far?