The Trouble with ......

[My mom and I are discussing Star Trek (the original series):


My Mom: What were those furry things called again?

Me: Tribbles.

My Mom: Yes that's right! Gerbils!

RBoC in Pictures

• The garden is in bloom:
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
• Cats are cute:
  
  
  
  
  
  
• We have a lot of weeds.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• Dr. H. thought he wasn't allergic to poison ivy. He was wrong.
  
  
  
  (The picture is from a week and half later, a few of those days with prescription steroids.)
  
  
  
• Ugh, just ugh.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
• Fun in lab:
  
  
  
  
  

Another Chapter

In my last post I told a little story about my eighth grade math class. Let me tell a more positive math class story that may put the eighth grade story in context.

Fifth grade was fabulous. My teacher, Mrs. Plunk, gave me and one other student the math book, flipped a good way through it and said, "Start here." The starting point for each of us was the first section we didn't already have proficiency in. While she gave the rest of the class a regular lesson, the two of us were allowed to work on material chapters ahead of the rest of the class on our own. When I felt like I had done enough practice problems in a chapter, I went up to Mrs. Plunk's desk and she gave me a post-test. If I got a 100%, I moved on.

That year was the year I discovered I loved math. Everything was so new! So cool! So much fun!

When I finished our book, she went and got the sixth grade book, flipped through it to the last unit and again said, "Start here." I asked about the earlier stuff in the book and she said "You know how to do all that." I looked through it. She was right.

That moment is the moment I realized that all the math books I had used in that state started all over again with addition and subtraction. At the time, I thought this was incredibly stupid. Later, someone told me this approach to math is called spiraling.

In sixth grade, I moved to a new school in the same state. The year opened with us studying addition and subtraction all over again. I told my new teacher "I know how to do all of this already." She said to me, "What do you want? A brownie button?" I didn't say much after that.

In sixth, seventh and eighth grade, I sat through math classes, bored out of my mind. Occasionally, I refused to do homework in rebellion. You have no idea how happy I was to go to high school.

It is not an exaggeration to say that Mrs. Plunk changed my life. From that year on, I thought of myself as someone who loved math and was good at it. But that one year did have the side effect of making the next three years really painful.

Girls = Boys: Math is not Hard

In case anyone possibly missed the Tierney business last week, go read this.

Now that that's out of the way, let's talk about: "Gender Similarities Characterize Math Performance" by Hyde, Lindberg, Linn, Ellis & Williams in Science, 25 July 2008: Vol. 321. no. 5888, pp. 494 - 495. This study, using recent data from 10 states, found no gender gap in math:

Effect sizes for gender differences, representing the testing of over 7 million students in state assessments, are uniformly <0.10, representing trivial differences (see table, top left, and table S1). Of these effect sizes, 21 were positive, indicating better performance by males; 36 were negative, indicating better performance by females; and 9 were exactly 0. From this distribution of effect sizes, we calculate that the weighted mean is 0.0065, consistent with no gender difference (see chart on p. 495 and fig. S1). In contrast to earlier findings, these very current data provide no evidence of a gender difference favoring males emerging in the high school years;

The author's suggest maybe earlier studies found differences in higher level problems because at that time girls took fewer and/or lower level math courses in school. (And I'm pretty sure that some dismissed this as a problem at that time, saying "See, girls are just more interested in people.") This isn't the case anymore, girls now choose these classes, and this may be why the gender gap has disappeared.

But wait! What about that variability thing? You know, the whole "it isn't that the boys are better on average, they just have more high and low achievers" thing Lawrence Summers spoke about? This study has some things to say about that too:

Data from the state assessments provide information on the percentage of boys and girls scoring above a selective cut point. Results vary by ethnic group. The bottom table on p. 494 shows data for grade 11 for the state of Minnesota. For whites, the ratios of boys:girls scoring above the 95th percentile and 99th percentile are 1.45 and 2.06, respectively, and are similar to predictions from theoretical models. For Asian Americans, ratios are 1.09 and 0.91, respectively. Even at the 99th percentile, the gender ratio favoring males is small for whites and is reversed for Asian Americans.

Did you catch that last part? In the 99th percentile, the ratio is reversed for Asian Americans. Interesting, no? On the Science website, the news note about the article mentions that Hyde (the lead author of the study) says this suggests there are complex cultural factors at work here. The study concludes:

Our analysis shows that, for grades 2 to 11, the general population no longer shows a gender difference in math skills, consistent with the gender similarities hypothesis (19). There is evidence of slightly greater male variability in scores, although the causes remain unexplained. Gender differences in math performance, even among high scorers, are insufficient to explain lopsided gender patterns in participation in some STEM fields. An unexpected finding was that state assessments designed to meet NCLB requirements fail to test complex problem-solving of the kind needed for success in STEM careers, a lacuna that should be fixed.

There is much more to the story and I recommend checking it out.

...

When I was in eighth grade, I was not permitted to take Algebra. Algebra was not offered as a formal class, but two students were allowed to study it with one of the student teachers on the side. I was not on of those students. This was not because I was a girl, but because of what happened during the free part of the math class period. You see, I was not one of the girls who went up to sit on the teacher's desk and giggle with him while he told dirty jokes. They got to take Algebra.

It would be nice if I were kidding. I am not.

Instead, I sat at my desk, wanting to stick a pencil into my eye to relieve the pain of doing 50 more math problems about something tedious I'd known how to do since the fourth grade.

My high school did not allow students to go directly into Algebra either. You had to get "permission" from your eighth grade math teacher. I brought him the slip. He looked at me, somewhat enjoying his little moment of power. "I don't know," he said, "this quarter you may be getting a B..."

Now, in fairness, I was getting a B. Why? Because I could not frigging stand calculating the area of a circle for the 121st damn time (by hand, this was 1981). So I may have missed an assignment or two. However, there was no frakking way this joker was going to prevent me from getting into Algebra. I knew it, too. I looked at him. I adopted my first and best ever Are you fucking kidding me? look. He looked at me for no more than a second after that and signed the paper.

At eighth grade graduation, he said to my mom, "I do believe your daughter was very bored in my class."

And that year we never got yearbooks. Something about my math teacher taking off with all the yearbook money. But maybe that was just a rumor.

Fortunately, high school was different. It wasn't all good, but at least it was different.

Going too far?

Is it bad that Dr. H and I change our facebook statuses so that our mutual friends will be amused if (and only if) they read both in their news feed?

Clearly I need to stop reading my e-mail...

Yesterday, I received a ton of bad news. None of it impacts me directly, but by the end of the day I was pretty depressed.

• A friend's brother-in-law just committed suicide. He and his wife have a two year old daughter.
  
• A good friend was on a cruise with his parents and in-laws. Everything was fine until his mother suddenly became ill and died. The whole thing sounds horrible.
  
• A colleague needs surgery for something fixable, but potentially life-threatening if not treated
  
• Another colleague (and friend and mentor with whom I work on many committees) just found out his prostate cancer has metathesized.
  

That will teach me to send e-mails. I may stop talking to people on campus too.

More Questions I Have Trouble Answering

From Dalton:

"How do girls pee if they don't have penises?"

[We attempt explanation]

"NO! There's no hole the pee comes out of, it comes out of my penis!"

From Curie:

"How did Dalton and I get out of your tummy? Is there a hole?"

[I attempt to deflect with description of how babies usually coming out on their own but sometimes a doctor does surgery to get them out]

"So, but normally there is a hole?"

[um, well, yeah]

"Do I have one? Where is it?"

[points to her bellybutton]

"Is it here?"

[uh, no]

"Well where is it?

[Starts looking all over her own body]

[time passes]

"Well?"

[Eventually come up with something brilliant about the babies being inside a uterus which opens up when the babies are ready to come out. Decide clarification about cervix versus uterus and details of the vaginal canal are not necessary to satisfy four year old.]

My Office

There is construction going on in the classroom across from my office. It is occasionally loud. The rest of the time, a religious radio program emanating from the boombox in the room is very loud.

Another conversation with my mother

I had just relayed a conversation I'd had with Dr. H.'s sister.

My mom: Wow, you and H talk to his sister about sex?

Me: Yes?

My mom: Wow.

Me: ?

My mom: It's just that I can't imagine discussing my sex life with my brother.

Me: I can't imagine discussing my sex life with your brother either.

In the restroom at a salad bar restaurant

Take four year old boy-girl twins, the use of proper formal terminology, and a current fascination with imagination and things either really big or really small, and this is what happens. (As related to me by Dr. H. after taking our daughter, Curie, to go potty.)

Curie: Boys have penises

Dr. H.: Yes.

Curie: But girls don't have penises.

Dr. H.: Yes, that's true.

Curie: But girls can pretend to have penises!

Dr. H.: Um, I guess so, yes.

Curie: I have a penis!

Dr. H.: Okay.

Curie: I have a really big penis!

Dr. H.: Okaaay.

Curie: It reaches all the way to the door!

No word on what the other patrons in the restroom thought of this interaction.

Warning: Post about parents, furniture and sex toys.

We recently purchased new bedroom furniture. Having outlasted our hand-me-down furniture and having put up with our inexpensive pkea (see Futurama clip here) long enough, we decided to buy real grownup furniture.

While in the process, Dr. H mentioned to his father that we were shopping for furniture. His dad excitedly pointed out that we would be able to take our pick of furniture from his old house and Dr. H's grandparents' old house. The houses are on the same property and are scheduled to be put on the market soon. Unexcited about more hand-me-down furniture, Dr. H. was noncommittal. However, a month later, when Dr. H. proposed driving there in June and possibly towing a small rental trailer behind him if the need arises, his Father insisted he should fly and rent a truck, because there would be way too much stuff for a trailer.

Uh-oh.

"Does he think we are taking a whole set of bedroom furniture in addition to your grandfather's papers?" I asked.

"I don't know. I didn't think so before, but now?"

We have a small bedroom and by this time had already decided on a platform bed with drawers to improve our storage situation. We bought it and two large dressers with deep drawers from a popular catalog we will call EarthenwareBarn. We forged ahead and purchased the furniture. It arrived prior to Dr. H. finalizing his plans to visit his father. In retrospect, I'm not sure if this tactic would be considered brilliant, passive-aggressive, cowardly, or what, but is seemed no big deal at the time. The day the furniture arrived, I mentioned it to FIL's partner when I spoke to her on the phone, forgetting this might be a sticky situation. She sounded extremely surprised. Uh-oh. A half an hour later, FIL calls to talk to his son. Why had he purchased furniture? Why had he not waited until he came to visit? I told Dr. H. to blame it on me, the daughter-in-law, but Dr. H. would have none of it. Instead, he explained our storage situation to his father, leaving out the small detail that one of the reasons we lack storage is the amount of space we have dedicated to sex toys and BDSM equipment. (Apologies to anyone shocked. To those curious, we are both switches.)

Anyway, two days after that awkward conversation, Dr. H. brought the furniture up with his father again, who assured him he understood. In truth, FIL has a tendency to advocate for solutions to problems that work well for him, sometimes not hearing or absorbing others' lack of enthusiasm or objections to the idea. Once he had time to realize we had never actually said or even implied we wanted any of the furniture, he was very gracious. All is well.

In other news, my mom is staying with us for June and July. Having recently retired, she is in the process of moving across country to be near her brother and by the ocean. She loves the new furniture. The bed is great, with six deep drawers around the outside.

"What are you going to put in all those drawers under the bed?" she asks.

"Um..." I say, pausing, as this conversation has just become a little awkward.

"Oh!" here eyes grow wide. She knows we are kinky. Other than that she prefers no details. In general, she is fine with it. She thinks we are adventurous and doesn't want to know too much more.

After a moment she says, "But what about the other five drawers?"

"Uh..." I pause again to think. I am totally unprepared for this conversation. And, in general, I try not to lie to my mother, so it doesn't come easy.

"You need all SIX drawers?" She asks, incredulous.

"Um, well maybe four or five," I say, "not including what's in the closet."

"Oh!"

Mercifully, the conversation ends here, with only minor embarrassment and perhaps some small amount of amusement on both our parts.

Of course, since having kids, much of our equipment is sadly neglected. But the kids are sleeping really soundly at night now. Perhaps we just need to invest in a little more soundproofing?