My daughter did it again, she made me cry. No she hasn’t developed a liking for rap music, hasn’t become a member of PETA, and no she didn’t announce her plans to pursue a career as a mime.

I was in the kitchen making supper, minding my own business, when I heard her say, “Dad I’m stuck on this problem.” I knew she was working on her homework, but I didn’t know what subject. As I made my way over to help her there was only one thought rolling through my head, “Please don’t let it be math, please don’t let it be math….”

It was math, not only math, but word problems. Don’t get me wrong, I love words, I use words all the time, I’m using them right now. When you mix my beloved words with those sinister numbers the words suddenly turn on me. Like politicians and the truth they just don’t go together.

I tried to be strong in front of my daughter, hoping she wouldn’t notice the veins bulging from my forehead as I came face to face with my old nemesis. I’m not sure where this dislike stems from. Maybe I was attacked by an accountant when I was a child, probably a mime accountant with a dog named ‘Zero’. A mime accountant, listening to rap music, and condemning my soul for eating a cheeseburger, ooh, gives me the willies just thinking about it.

Whatever the cause, it’s always been there. Lurking around every corner, 20 percent off, 6.9 percent financing, a baker’s dozen, the twelve days of Christmas, penny for your thoughts, it takes two to tango, for the love of God make it stop.

For the truly sadistic there is a ‘game’ called roadside math. My cousin, who apparently is in cahoots with the numbers to kill me, sent me an email explaining the rules. I would explain it to you but half way through the rules I felt my eye’s begin to twitch, suffered a seizure, blacked out, and wet myself.

If I would have been in Noah’s position there would have been trouble at the first mention of all those ‘cubic’s.’ Noah’s Ark would have been Noah’s Drift Wood and a lot more than just the unicorns would have been left behind.

In the past when I have tried to help Sierra with her math homework it has never turned out very good. We start out civil, but it ends with me accusing her of hating me for putting me through such agony. This time was different. I handled it with calm and grace, not even a hint of madness.

I dialed the phone and politely handed it to my daughter. A few minutes later she smiled, hung up, and said that she understood it now, and told Jackson that Mom says “Hi.”

Dawn loves math, other than that she’s a very normal person. She got me through college algebra when we were dating. I knew it was true love when she refrained from choking me and calling me a slack jawed idiot during our study sessions.

Yes, love is blind and love hurts sometimes, but not as much as math.