Mrs. Barson (my kidnergarten teacher at Lotspeich School, Cincinnati) still holds my standard for the most profound moment in math teaching.
It's 1978. We’re in a circle during math time. Each person in turn says a number. After which, the whole circle is supposed to say the next two numbers in sequence. Like, Amanda said “156”, and we all counted together, “157, 158.”
After a bit of this, my girlfriend Rebecca* looks mischievous. Something fun is about to happen.
* Our favorite activity as a couple was to pick *four* digit numbers and harass Mrs. Barson by telling her what the number was called. The class had been told not to pick more than three digits. Rebecca and I were offended by that rule - we knew about numbers in the thousands! Don’t doubt our intellect! I suspect, with 40 years of perspective, that the rule was less about our intelligence and more about the limits of Mrs. Barson’s patience for showing her excitement at 5 year olds spitting out super-long words.
Our class has been proudly spreading the secret that “infinity” is the biggest possible number. We are collectively smug in the knowledge that we have somehow thereby conquered mathematics.
"Infinity," says Rebecca. She smiles, thinking she’s somehow “won” the game.
Mrs. Barson doesn’t miss a beat. She leads the chant: “infinity plus one, infinity plus two...”
[Five year old mind explodes.]
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