It’s 1974, and I’m sitting in the front seat of my mother’s 1965 Blue Green Plymouth Fury. She has me bundled up and ready for errands. Before we can leave, the car needs to warm up. To pass the time, my mother leads me on count up to 30. This is my first experience with numbers.
I’m sitting at the dining room table. My back is to the door that leads to the basement where my oldest brother, HB, is hanging out. I call out my math homework questions, and HB calls up the answer. This is another of my early experience with numbers.
Yes, I learned my numbers in an unconventional way. If you look deeper at my history, this is not surprising. You see, I come from a numbers family. My father was an accountant. My mother can recall the birthday of people she has not seen or spoke to in years. HB majored in accounting. My 2nd oldest brother crunches number in some capacity in his job. My next older brother has held a number of jobs where numbers were required.
Numbers dance in my head.