Math, What Is It Good For?

Disclaimer: The following is not intended to promote reckless student behavior. It is simply, the telling of a true story.

I recently read a newspaper article outlining the Board of Education’s vision for the future of Florida high schools. Evidently, the plan includes a four-credit math requirement instead of the current three. Now, that sounds like “cruel and unusual.” I hate math, have no use for it. Math and I have a history.

It was 1968. I had just finished ninth grade, posting what I thought was quite a remarkable “C” average in general math. I was looking forward to the summer, playing baseball, fishing and swimming at Silver Lake.

However, my parents saw something menacing on the fall horizon—algebra. I would have to take it in the tenth grade. I thought, so what, I’m an educated kid. After all, I made a “C” in general math. But though they were pleased with my outstanding accomplishment, they must have secretly thought it was a fluke. How else could you explain their signing me up for summer school so I’d be better prepared for algebra in the fall?

Now, I have been embarrassed a few times in my life. Like the time when I was a junior and my coach left me sitting in the bleachers in my football jersey after having called all the other football players down onto the gym floor, individually, by name, during the season’s first pep rally. But this was a pretty big one, too.

Everybody in that summer school class had just failed algebra. Neither the teacher, nor the other students, believed that I was in summer school just to get a jump start on “next year’s” algebra. But my parents’ plan worked. I finished my sophomore year with a “B” in algebra, an achievement that led to visions of a career in mathematics.

I entered that eleventh-grade geometry class a cocky little whiz kid, but by the end of the first week I was more lost than a Republican thumbing a ride outside Baghdad. I flunked in a major way. My parents were devastated. Their son was not math prodigy they had supposed. Heading into my senior year, I needed another math credit in order to graduate.

But alas, I was rescued by a class called Senior Review. Everyone received a paperback workbook that reviewed basic math concepts. No, not theorems and angles and such, but addition, subtraction, multiplication and division. The class was taught by a coach, and since all but two students were athletes, I surmised it was a course specifically designed for athletes. Now, how could I mess this up?

There was only one rule – no homework was allowed. Every day, before leaving, we had to stack our workbooks on a shelf. The coach (teacher) would then check our names, which were written on the book binders, to make sure no one was taking books home.

Now, 1971 was a time of protests, and I went to one of those dress code demonstrations one fine day…during school…very late in the year. The administration, evidently not understanding the coolness of the times, promptly suspended me for two weeks, which brought my suspension total for the year to three full weeks. I was a misguided youth.

Upon my return to school, I realized I didn't have enough time to catch up my missed work before school ended. I shamelessly begged the coach to let me take my book home for one night, to catch up. He just smiled. So, I did what any desperate young man in my position would have done. I put the real book in my gym bag, wrote my name on the binder of a fake book and slipped it in the stack. I was home free…until a "fellow athlete” (I'll call his name John Beck)ratted on me.

Coach Brock was red in the face when he said, “Robert, come with me to the office.” I replied, “Coach, I can’t get suspended again, I've already missed over three weeks - I won’t graduate.” Coach said, “You’re not getting suspended, I’m giving you three licks.” I told him he must be smoking some tainted stuff, that I was eighteen and whipping me was not an option(we actually did have a good relationship).

When Coach walked toward me I ran into the hallway, disappearing into the crowd. Coach was surprised when I appeared outside his room during his next period class. I was standing in the shrubs, looking through the open windows.

The class was being thoroughly entertained as we carried on our verbal exchange. He said, “Robert, you’re not getting back in my class unless I give you three licks.” After more passionate begging, I reluctantly agreed. That despot was so excited about the prospect of whipping me, he hustled down to the office, leaving his class unattended. None dropped, but big tears filled my eyes. Coach Brock did end up passing me. Did I mention I was an athlete? Disgusting, isn't it?

Now, maybe you understand why I hate math so much. Math kept me from a summer of fun, it destroyed my parents’ dreams, it raised and subsequently crushed my self-confidence and it put marks on my behind that I believe are still there.

So, I’ll borrow, and tweak a little, from a famous man of that era, Edwin Star: Math, huh, yeah, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing. Uh-huh math, huh, yeah, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing. Say it again, ya’ll, Math, huh, good God. What is it good for….

Special Note: In an effort to maintain literary integrity, I sent for my high school transcript, which confirmed my senior year absences to be 3 ½ weeks.

Leave it all on the Field

I have worked with youth, either directly or indirectly, for pretty much all of my adult life—and that goes back four decades. Having said that, let me assure you that these are truly special times for the youth of the church.

God, in His grace, is touching the lives of young people in ways the church hasn’t experienced in some time. In small groups and large gatherings, the young in the world are responding to His call by the thousands. We tend to limit our thinking to our little piece of the world, but be assured—the power and presence we are experiencing in 2007 is nothing short of global.

I believe we are right now in the midst of the greatest move of God since the Jesus movement of the late 60’s and early 70’s. This is not a time to be timid, not a time to shy away from commitment, not a time to be controlled by the opinions of peers, not a time to play it safe. The youth are not the church of tomorrow, they are the church of today!

I played football in high school, and though I wasn’t that good, I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. One of my most poignant memories was of the field itself. Our home field was the envy of all high school teams in northeast Florida, always lush green and meticulously manicured. When the team first ran onto the field on Friday nights, the newly painted stripes and the smell of the freshly cut Bermuda grass was intoxicating.

Of course, at the end of the night, it was all torn up and had blood and maybe someone’s supper on it. You could tell something momentous and significant had taken place there.

There is a saying in athletics: Leave it all on the field. In other words, when the game is over, make sure you don’t bring anything back to the locker room that could have been used on the field of competition. All your energy and skill should have been expended in the contest.

But, you know, there are other fields in life, and those fields are infinitely more important than football fields. In John 4:35, Jesus said, “Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest…” I encourage you to “leave it all” on those fields. Don’t walk away from this time without having given 100% of your passion, desire and talent to your own personal field.

There will come a time when Jesus will again look on those fields that were ready for harvest in John 4. It will be a sad day if the fields are full and the grain is still standing tall, having been untouched. But, what a thrilling day if Jesus looks on our field, and seeing stacks of harvested grain exclaims, "This field is all torn up - something momentous and significant has taken place here!"

One day, we will all look back on this time in the history of the church. Down the road, with three kids, a dog and a Lincoln, will you have regrets? My prayer is that, at that time, you will be able to truthfully say to your friends, your God and yourself, “I left it all on the field.”

Dick Cheney Gunned Down in Texas Duel

Armstrong County, TX—Just a little over a year since Vice President Dick Cheney wounded his friend, Harry Whittington, in a quail hunt, Cheney himself was fatally shot on the same sprawling Armstrong Ranch.

A news conference held this week by Republican power broker, Katherine Armstrong, confirmed earlier reports that movie legend Charlton Heston killed Cheney in an old west style gun fight during an armadillo hunt.

Heston, former National Rifle Association president and life-long member of the NRA, is a frequent ranch guest but had never been paired with Cheney on a hunt. Armstrong said that Heston started the day a bit edgy after drawing Cheney as a hunting partner.

But just as the dogs got on a ‘dilla scent, that uneasiness apparently prompted Heston to launch into an unsolicited gun safety lecture directed at the vice president. According to Armstrong, the lesson rapidly deteriorated when he grabbed Cheney's shotgun to demonstrate proper technique.

One eye witness said Cheney called the 82-year-old Heston “old man Moses” as he put him in an old-fashioned headlock. Another witness said it then appeared that Heston reverted to one of his former movie roles and yelled back, “Get your stinkin’ paws off me you #@%$ filthy ape!”

But all witnesses confirmed the final scene. The two, wrapped in deadly embrace, rolled on the desert floor until being separated by fellow hunters.

Cheney then challenged Heston to settle their dispute Texas-style, with a gunfight. They strapped on side arms and squared off. Cheney cleared leather first but he was reportedly no match for the seasoned Heston.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, President Bush and his advisors have flown in from Washington to discuss a possible successor. Inside sources have leaked a shocking development, indicating that Bush is leaning heavily toward Chuck Norris.