A conversation with my nephew.
Him: "Ah auntie, good evening. Thank God you're here."
Me: "Why are you so happy I'm here?"
Him: "Because I need help with my homework."
At this point, I beam with pride and importance, exuding every aura of a big auntie. Then I ask the pertinent question.
"Which subject do you need help in?"
"Mathematics," he says, grinning.
My heart stops. Then sweat breaks out on my forehead. My heart's rhythm increases a little. This boy wants to disgrace me. I'm scared, but I still ask again.
"Which topic of math?"
"Angles. We're supposed to find the value of Y."
Ah! This Y again. This Y has been haunting me since I left school and now it wants to show this boy how I proudly claimed F9 in mathematics.
He runs off to bring his books and when he settles down, I make up my mind. I look him straight in the eye.
"Sweetie, auntie won't lie. I was terrible at math in school. I HATED angles and I still strongly despise Y. But I'm going to try. You'll teach me what your class teacher taught you and if I understand, I'll be able to help you out with your assignment. Deal?"
"Deal," he said, excited.
The next five minutes, I listened attentively while he explained the formula. And to my shock, I actually understood and learned.
Then he turned to me and said, "Aunty, it's your turn."
Oh, the innocence of a child. If only he knew that he could've used the same formula to solve his math, just the way he'd showed me.
This gave me the opportunity to redeem myself, not just to him, but to myself. I showed him what I'd just learnt. And we even devised a way to cross check our answers to make sure they were correct.
When we finished, he looked up and said, "Auntie, thank you. You know math after all."
And I said, "No, sweetie. It was all you. Thank you."