I sit at a booth at California Pizza Kitchen as my legs swing back and forth, barely scraping the floor. With a mischievous grin, I grab a red crayon and scribble on the black-and-white coloring book with my own mission in mind. One times two equals two, times two equals four, times two equals eight, and so on. After I fill the page, the napkins in the dispenser in front of me become my canvas. When I finish, red numbers sprawl across the workbook and neatly ordered napkins on the table, mimicking a college professor’s chalkboard. My masterpiece is complete.
At five years old, I cherished multiplying numbers by two until I reached numbers in the millions, and my love for simple math became a staple of my personality. When I entered high school, I was delighted to discover my passion for mental math reflected in the activities I pursued:
(310 total seconds – 162 seconds ran) / 2 laps left = 74 seconds per lap. During a 1600m dash, I recalculated the average pace I needed to meet my goal after every lap and adjusted my stride accordingly. 28 rows * 36 seats per row = 1008 total seats. During a chorus class, I calculated the number of seats in the auditorium we sang in with enthusiasm.
My arithmetic may not always serve a practical purpose, yet I find comfort in making sense of the little things in my life. The math problems penned with a red crayon may seem trivial to some, but they represent my curiosity seeking a better grasp of the world around me.