The Pascal Triangle

Charlie makes me laugh. At age eight, my grandson displays a gift that children have of saying funny things, particularly when their words stem from a sincere confusions of ideas. He also has developed a knack for spotting and remembering the physical location of things. Even as a tyke, he knew where I parked my car. Yes, grownups should not forget where their cars are parked, but I do forget all too often. At those moments, the sweetest sound I know is Charlie’s voice saying, “No grandma, it’s not here; it’s over there.” Charlie also spots my keys and my purse when I cannot. He finds my cups of perfectly made tea (with honey and cream) before they cool. He even finds my glasses.

But what he, like many children, cannot see includes the washcloth on the floor behind the bathroom door, the pajama bottoms scrunched under the bed, the cellophane wrapper fallen on the carpet, and my best spatula which is never allowed to leave the kitchen (rule!), yet somehow has transformed itself into a rocket launcher, springing out of the kitchen drawer and into Charlie’s bedroom to fulfill its true purpose of catapulting small objects.

Need I go on?

What we have here, then, is a boy doing boy things—specifically a boy who is growing up largely away from screens or a barrage of plastic techno-toys that require batteries. It is a hard battle, but we have mostly held those lines. Consequently, Charlie does what children from time immemorial have done, namely amuse himself in messy, impish play!

But I digress from the anecdote I wanted to share. Thinking to establish a useful, semi-serious summer routine, I decided to find Charlie a math activity for each morning. That’s sounds perfect in concept. The flow of mornings in the summertime, though, can undo perfect concepts pretty fast.

Nonetheless, I’m trying. So, on Tuesday I decided to make a copy of the Pascal Triangle and tell him about it. He likes math a lot. In truth, I knew little about it, so I read up. I was gobsmacked.

First, though, I needed to get him intrigued. So, while whipping up waffle batter, I said, “Charlie, have you ever heard of the Pascal Triangle?” I half-expected him to say “Yes, grandma,” since he and his sister encounter a wealth of information in the Abeka curricula they use at their small, marvelously dear Baptist school—a school that lies just 4½ minutes from our house (in-and-of itself, a miracle).

And Charlie did say “Yes, grandma.” Wow, I thought. Before I could add another egg to the batter, though, he continued: “That’s the thing with the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, right?”

Two days earlier had been Trinity Sunday. Sitting as we do in the first row of our church, right under the pulpit, both grandkids have had zero choice other than to become quiet, attentive parishioners. The theory that kids cannot behave in church is not allowed to flourish in this household. Instead, the theory is stated this way: long services are preparations for the rigors of the full cycle in Holy Week, so take this weekly training seriously!

Of course, they are still kids. They scribble on the bulletins (a great pleasure in my childhood, as I recall). They leaf through the hymnal (a basic tool for music education that traditionally helped vast swaths of children learn note-reading, principles of harmony, the beauty of poetry, and different concepts of organization). Then, there’s the critical force of daydreaming in church (a lovely thing, particularly when the child’s eye rests on imposing architectural structures and rich theological décor at every angle).

Still, how much of the readings and sermon do kids actually hear? Apparently, this Sunday, Charlie heard a lot, based on the Trinity sermon he proceeded to give me right there in the kitchen! Of course, I laughed inwardly, waited until he finished, and said,” Yes, Charlie, that is a very important triangle. But, there’s this other triangle named for a French mathematician that’s kind of a puzzle. Do you want to see it?”

What children say is precious, although we may forget that in the heat of our frustrations. My generation grew up with a TV show called Kids Say the Darndest Things (1959-1967), hosted by Art Linkletter. Such shows occupied but a modest window of our daily lives back then, but they taught a big bundle of lessons. Today these kinds of shows are often criticized. Beyond the issue of how much stereotyping and other “politically incorrect” content they held, another complaint blasts from the fact that real families rarely resembled the idealized ones we saw on the little black-and-white screen. What real families could lay out tough problems and resolve them in thirty minutes the way the Cleavers did in Leave It To Beaver (1957-1963), every story ending with a kiss between husband and wife? Most importantly (to me), how is it possible to make up a bunk bed as neatly as Wally’s and Beaver’s?

On the other hand, much portrayed in such vintage shows rings true. My mom wore those exact shirtwaist dresses, minus the pearls. She dusted the same furniture, minus the ever-fresh vase of flowers, and she cooked the same plain, but wholesome dishes for supper. No matter how much the ideals proclaimed in these shows might fracture when applied to real life, the underlying expectations were roundly acclaimed: families stood at the core of our society. Problems would be experienced and solved within the family. Resolutions could be, and ought to be, positive for everyone involved. Love has the power to transform dark moments into light.

We have been watching Leave it to Beaver episodes over the winter. I expected to find them dated and even laughable. Instead, I am astonished by how much good we are taking from them. The dialogue between the brothers isn’t very different from the ones we hear between Patti and Charlie (except for the tones of bossiness projected by a pre-adolescent sister towards her stoic little brother). Most notably, the precious dynamics of those TV-siblings mapping out their world under the watchful eye of adults echos the energies that flow in our household, and likely in yours.

The biggest change, of course, is the degree to which family consistency and values are distorted in households today. I needn’t list the factors or causes of broken families and the dismal standards of behavior that surround us today. I needn’t explain the open disrespect displayed by both young people and adults. I needn’t remind you of the cringe we feel at the crude, vicious sayings printed on T-shirts and in advertisements. I weep for those children who are taught no “right and wrong,” no faith, no patriotism, no modesty, and little personal responsibility.

Hank and I took our first steps in the journey called “the Educational Renewal” when we created Discovering Music in 2009. Since then, the curve of dismaying events in society has accelerated. Yet the resources for countering these dark forces have increased too. Often, particularly in the stretches when I travel, I reflect upon how logically the path has unfolded for us, especially when seen in the rear-view mirror. Each publication, each conference, each old-yet-new resource, each masterful talk given by a colleague, and each family sharing its experience has played a part. The intense call that Hank and I feel to support this movement is fueled precisely by these factors.

We can all strive to be in the company of people who work diligently, creatively, to restore the central haven of the family. We can learn daily how better to cherish one another, starting with our children and grandchildren and moving outward to our neighbors and relatives. We can become wiser and stronger as we set up the expectations and standards for ourselves and our families. Even when faced with fissures and breakdowns, we can remember that children see and internalize the high standards they are taught. If children never see them set forth, however imperfectly, they cannot strive to hold them in their adult lives.

So take heart. Breathe. Find a copy of the Pascal Triangle and look at the spiritual beauty of mathematics. Think on the funny things you hear from the children around you. Think of the marvelous way in which children weave their limited understanding of facts and their enthusiasm to learn and do. And remember that your efforts to set the highest standards possible will not be in vain, no matter how it may seem on any given day.

Pascal Trianlge: Nonenmac (CC BY-SA 3.0)