I may have mentioned before how Dad spent most of every evening of most of my childhood helping me through my math homework. It was pretty arduous but Dad was unfailingly patient. If I didn't understand how he explained it at first, he'd come up with a different way. And if I still didn't get it, he'd come up with yet another way. And when I cried and wailed that I would never, ever survive, he didn't give up, he didn't walk away, he didn't wash his hands of me. He just got me through it.
Recently Miriam has needed more help with math homework. Tonight we spent close to an hour finishing the last eight problems of her homework. She didn't understand the first two times we went through it and I struggled to come up with a third explanation. It took a while for her to get it but she finally did.
During this time I came to appreciate, on another level, what Dad went through with me. It's tough being the kid doing the homework, not understanding what the teacher said earlier, forgetting the tips in the textbook. It's a different kind of tough to be the parent who helps. To see the answer before the problem is finished. To want the child to understand why the problem works the way it does. To skirt around what seems like a very obvious answer so the child can figure it out herself. To wonder if the child really grasps the concept and isn't just nodding and smiling along. That's tough.
So tonight, while I've always been beyond grateful to my Dad for all his years of math help, tonight I understood from the other side. And I am even more grateful now that while he was teaching me math, he was also teaching me how to help my own children with their math. If it weren't for my dad's guidance and excellent example, I wouldn't be able to help my own children.
Thank you, Dad. I love you.
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