Monday, August 25, 2008

INCENTIVE ENOUGH


The first car I ever became infatuated with was the mid-80s Porsche 911 Targa. Asides from its roadster good looks, aero-tail and beefy rims and rubber, I’m not sure why it appealed to me so much when all of my friends were all about the Lamborghinis and Ferraris. Anyways, it wasn’t long before a poster of that beautiful vehicle took up some prime real estate in my bedroom and my grandmother bought me the Mazur’s die-cast model of it for Christmas.


Around those same years, Ma and Pa were always at a loss as to why a conspicuous “D” grade in Math routinely interrupted the string of Bs on my report card. I was completely at a loss as to it myself, only I simply didn’t care the same way they did. I’ve since come to understand I’m something of a number-dyslexic individual, but back then the folks attributed it to pure laziness and a lack of attention paid in class. The latter, admittedly, had a small part in it, but the former truly had none.


I distinctly remember my father’s tone when he said “I bet if I promised you I’d buy you that Porsche if you got a B in Math, you’d do it.” I similarly remember having a synapse malfunction that was only processing the first half of the sentence, but the fact was his assessment of my laziness was way off base. My indifference? That was a different story without question. I stick by my guns to this day in believing everything I was forced to suffer with after learning the basics of + / - / x / division is completely irrelevant to the adult lives of 90% of us. However, I digress.


Despite an inclination, I didn’t actually ask “Will you?” as I knew both of his example-only insincerity and the fact they would be building snowmen in Havana before I earned a B in mathematics. So as much as he was simply trying to make a point, however erroneous, the incentive really wasn’t there. The day I squeaked by Math 11 with 51% in summer school I was on academic easy street from there on and had no real complaint with my 1977 Honda Civic.


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It’s painfully more obvious everyday the Porsche roadster is highly unlikely at any point in my future, barring a massive overhaul in employment prospects or some lucky numbers. Nonetheless, I’m quite content in my Toyota knowing I have no clue what the square root of 1,462 is, and yet as assured as I was twenty years ago that I’ll never need to.

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