You don’t understand anything!
And with that, she turned and stomped her way up to her room, using the door for punctuation.
With the birth of a daughter, I have known for the past eight years that this time would come. The time when my daughter, like her mother before her, like all daughters, would accuse me of being unable to understand her problems. I have been steeling myself for this since the moment she was born. My passionate, dark-haired beauty, my Poppyseed.
What I didn’t expect, aside from the fact that I thought we had a few more years before such accusations, was that the subject matter would not be boys or clothes or mean girls, but…wait for it…mathematics.
A-raze! A-raze! Don’t you know about a-raze?!?
A-raze? A raise? Rays? To what could she possibly be referring. I scrambled to connect some mathematical function with what she kept screeching in frustration. Coming up empty, I went immediately to the computer to find a tutorial.
I knew how do it.
I just didn’t know it had a name.